Of Slayers and Shipgirls
by SBSunhawk2
Summary: The Powers That Be are annoyed. Their perfect plan to force humanity back under their thumb has failed. Time for Plan B. Sadly for them, no plan survives contact with the Slayer.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer – While I truly wish it were otherwise, I do not own the rights to any of the fandoms included in this story, including Kantai Collection and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. They belong to people far more creative than I am, and I hope they don't mind me playing in their sandbox.**_

 _ **I'm adjusting the BtVS timeline to a more modern date to line up better with Kantai. This is YAHF, yet one with a twist, I hope. Comments, compliments, insults, feedback, snide remarks, attempted witticisms, all are welcome.**_

 _Prologue_

 _Location – Unknowable  
Time – Irrelevant_

 _The room, if it could be described as something as mundane as a mere room, was chillingly cold, dark, and endless. The only light came from a nearly infinite number of varicolored pinpricks that seemed to float within in ever-changing patterns. Glowing wispy clouds drifted about seemingly at random, coalescing and dissipating in patterns and rhythms undiscernible to mortal eye. There were no floors, walls, or ceilings yet the sense that this was, in fact, a room of some sort still prevailed to the limited senses of mortality. If one were to examine the dots of light, they would find them comprised of countless trillions of smaller pricks of light that were stars and galaxies, at the scale of the room even super groups of galaxies were infinitesimally small. This was eternity, or at least a true representation thereof. And it was the playground and battlefield of the true greater gods._

 _There was a single figure within the room at the moment, seemingly gazing at a single one of the tiny pinpricks of light. The figure was indistinct, with no fixed form. It shifted, flowed, morphed, coalesced and faded. No mortal eye could truly comprehend the form, but there was a sense of change, of impermanence, of chaos. The most perceptive might say there were two faces, back to back, one male and one female._

 _It was the face of a true deity, albeit a relatively weak one in the grand scheme of the cosmos. Janus, God of Change and Doorways. And he was not happy. Change was being rejected, Doorways were being sealed. Both faces scowled. A tiny pulse, imperceptible to mortal senses, and he paused, seemingly waiting._

 _A faint distortion flickered, for a span of time immeasurable by mortal instruments. And another, and a third. And then the faces slowly smiled, a cold, cruel, almost gloating sort of smile. An indistinct hand reached out, cupping the pale dot in an almost gentle, loving caress. An infinitesimally small tendril of power grew, shifted, morphed… and then engulfed the tiniest fraction of that tiny dot. A strangely harmonic voice could then be heard._

 _Oddly enough he was handicapped by his own immense power. More than the tiniest, faintest, mildest bit of it injected directly into the mortal realm would reduce it to primordial chaos. True gods generally dealt with truly cosmic concerns and forces while leaving the millennia to millennia affairs of the various realities to lesser beings. But he could safely apply that tiny fragment of power through his mortal worshippers, and slightly more by tapping into naturally occurring wellsprings of mystical power._

 _"… Just a little twist… a little shout…"_

 _This was going to be good._

 _Location – Sol System  
Time – Unknown_

 _A cluster of beings hovered above a pale blue marble of a planet, gazing with cold, calculating eyes. Most mortals who knew of their existence mistakenly considered them forces of 'light' or 'good', but in truth they were forces of total and unrelenting Order, Order under their heel, and order under their control. They were the ultimate fascists in many ways, disguising their nature beneath the façade of opposing darkness and evil. The truth was that the forces of evil, numerous as they were, were predictable and easily accounted for in their plans. It was humans who had to be forced into obedience for they were infuriatingly prone to chaos and change. And it was the actions of humans which brought them to this point._

 _"Our plans have been disrupted." Came one voice._

 _"Destiny has been denied." Came another._

 _"Our Balance has been threatened." Came a third._

 _"Arrogance." Came yet a fourth._

 _"They must learn their place." Came an ephemeral murmur from the fifth._

 _"They advance too quickly, soon they shall not need us." The first voice intoned._

 _"Unacceptable." Agreed the second._

 _"Our tool refused to accept her destiny." The fourth voice said._

 _"The Line has been split." Came the third._

 _"Balance must be maintained." Murmured the fifth._

 _Then all five voices seemed to join into one chorus. "Humanity must be put back in its place. Destiny has been denied, a new destiny begins. So we have spoken, so we intend, so it shall be."_

 _With a flash of light a bowler-hatted man in an ill-fitting and horridly out of fashion suit shimmered into existence before the five figures._

 _The Balance Demon known as Whistler was unsurprised; he had expected this summons ever since that annoying brat had broken the prophecy and revived the even more irritating blond Slayer. He knelt before his masters, before the Powers that Be._

 _"Know now Our will. The demons bound in the depths of the Abyss shall be released. You shall command them. You shall return humanity to proper subjugation to the will of Destiny. Crush them, without mercy, until the surviving remnant knows its proper place. The Balance must be preserved, at all costs." Came the echoing chorus as the Powers spoke as one._

 _Whistler said nothing, merely rose and bowed deeply before vanishing once more._

 _This was going to be bad. But not, perhaps, as bad as the Powers intended._

 _Neither the Powers nor the agent would ever realize that they had been observed, for the true gods were as far above the Powers that Be as they were above mortals. And they had plans already in motion._

 _Location – Abyssal Trench  
Time – Six Months Ago_

 _Whistler floated in the Stygian depths, unharmed by the crushing pressure and uncaring of the lack of light. Balance Demons were tougher than that, he more than most due to his direct connection to the Powers That Be._

 _He was also a creature of actual Balance and neutrality rather than pure order, unlike his masters, and as he floated there he considered and planned how to carry out their will within his own nature. He would raise the Abyssal demons as his masters demanded, that was a given, but his own nature would require that there be a counter. Not necessarily one that could defeat the plan, for what would be the point? But one that would have a fighting chance. Balance required it._

 _Unleashing the Abyssal demons always required placing them into the metaphysical forms of monstrous creatures of the sea. By forcing the formless creatures into these templates the Powers could both control them and send them back into the Abyss when the need for them had passed._

 _In the past, this had taken the form of massive sea serpents, or massive squid or octopi. But humans today did not fear such creatures. Modern humans would just shrug and send out their industrial trawlers and fishing vessels and comment on whether or not the monsters tasted good with Chianti. Therefore a more modern twist was called for, and in that same twist could be found the balance that Whistler required by his own nature._

 _He spoke, in a tongue unfathomable to humans, his voice echoing oddly in the darkness of the deep. Before him shadow forms began to gather, growing more and more solid as the inhuman chant continued. Then Whistler expanded his senses as the growing, swirling concentration of eldritch energy slowly opened a multitude of portals deep within the sea. This had to be done just right. Balance would not be satisfied if there was too small of a metaphysical immune response, but Whistler had served the Powers for so long that he could not conceive of defining balance as a true correlation of force. Thus he had to ensure that there would never be enough to rob his masters of their desired victory and so he carefully expended the last dregs of the arcane power to seal one particular gateway with bars of hellish iron so that none could pass._

 _It was oddly appropriate, or so he thought, that the homeland of the two mortals who most irritated him and his masters would be rendered crippled and unable to respond to the threat he was unleashing. The most powerful nation of mortals on Earth, rendered helpless and supine before this threat. The irony tickled the Balance Demon's fancy and he never once considered that his actions could possibly have wider repercussions. After all, he was even blinder to the machinations of the greater deities than his masters were._

 _His rolling, guttural chant finally finished with a snarled command, and Whistler sat himself on a basalt throne carved from the living bedrock of the Abyssal Trench as the now fully corporeal forms of the Abyssal demons began to rise towards the surface. Bestial, twisted, insane… yet shadowed by forms of the past that they fit oh so imperfectly. And completely subservient to his will._

 _In ancient days these demons were called_ Leviathan _, and were thought to be the instruments of the gods' wrath. In truth, they had ever been the tool of the Powers, used whenever they could get away with it to try and smash humanity into compliance with their will. The true gods had punished the Powers once before, the last time the leviathans had been unleashed, but the Powers were convinced that the gods were no longer paying attention. After all, they hadn't stopped any other of the Powers' schemes since then._

 _Let the games begin._

 _Location – Earth  
Time – 5 months, 3 weeks ago to 1 week ago_

"This is a CNN Breaking News Alert. No definite cause for the destruction of hundreds of ships over the past week has yet been confirmed. Sources at the Pentagon have confirmed, however, that the same unknown forces which have sunk so many civilian vessels are also responsible for the complete loss of the _USS Washington_ , _USS Carl Vinson_ , and _USS Stennis_ battle groups. We are now sadly able to report that contact has been lost with the _USS Roosevelt_ and her battle group as of 10 AM Eastern Time this morning. There is a briefing scheduled at the Pentagon this evening, and President Obama will reportedly be addressing the nation tonight. Back to you, Wolf."

"Fox News Alert, Boston Harbor is burning at this hour following a bombardment by the enigmatic threat known as the 'Abyssals'. Early reports are that evacuation procedures were mostly successful due to the nearly three hour warning from P-3 patrol planes over the Atlantic. No word on casualties however property damage is estimated in the hundreds of millions of dollars at this time. This is only the latest in a series of bombardments from the Abyssals of port cities around the world.."

On the screen was a live shot from a news helicopter showing the entirety of the waterfront ablaze, the burning hulk of _USS Constitution_ barely visible through the flames.

"… not sure, Rachel. Initial reports are that these… can muss you? kanmuso, thank you. Initial reports are that they have repelled attacks in Tokyo Bay and around the Japanese island of Kyushu. There is speculation that the Japanese might have found a counter for the Abyssal threat."

"Thank you, Katy. Producers are telling me… OK, on the screen now are the first images from a news conference from Yokosuka, Japan, introducing these kanmuso, which I'm told translates to 'ship girl'…? "

"The latest summoning attempt has, unfortunately, failed. Attempts will continue, but we regret to report that all attempts to summon kanmusu of our own have failed for unknown reasons." The spokesman looked down at his notes, flipping the page while the reporters stirred at the unwelcome news. "Efforts to reactivate coastal defense batteries are continuing and production has started on replacement cannon for them, we hope to have the first battery online in several days."

 _Location – Norfolk Naval Shipyard Summoning Pool  
Time – 5 days ago_

A bubble, maybe two. It would take a high definition camera to be sure, but there definitely was a bubble. Which meant this latest summoning attempt was yet another failure in a long depressing string of failures. Every other nation, using this precise ritualistic technique, had managed to summon ship girls. Every single one. And the imagery was always roughly the same, the chanting ends, the summoning pool erupts in a massive explosion of bubbles, and then in the middle of the pool stands a ship girl. Yet all they had ever been able to do is get a bubble or two, no explosion of bubbles, not even a small froth of bubbles, just a lonely bubble that pops and vanishes leaving nothing behind. It was extremely frustrating.

 _Location – Sunnydale High Library  
Time – 4 days ago_

With class in session the library was quiet, peaceful, and serene. Just like Giles liked it. His books were safe for now from the grubby hands of inconsiderate colonials and he could take the time to get in some reading. A far too brief respite in a usually quite chaotic day. School was still in session, despite the massive disruption of trade and commerce, in an attempt to keep things as 'normal' as possible.

Then the doors banged open.

"Ripper!" came a quite unwelcome voice from his past, causing Giles to stand up almost violently and leave his office.

Before he could say anything, though, the thoroughly unwelcome intruder in his sanctum sanctorum continued "I need your help, old boy."

Ethan looked like his normal insouciant self, at least to Giles' eye. "What are you doing here, Ethan." He ground out from between clenched teeth. His former, very former, friend was decidedly not wanted here but Giles was willing to at least listen to him.

Then Ethan did something Giles never expected. His shoulders slumped and he took a deep breath. "Saving the bloody world, Ripper, saving the bloody world and giving the sods behind this bloody mess a black eye in the process." He squared up, took another breath, and then looked Giles in the eye. "Janus came to me a few nights ago while I was planning a quite wonderful little prank and gave me some quite specific instructions. And I realized, Ethan old chap, you can't do this all on your own. So here I am. You want to help stop the Leviathans or not?"

"Dear Lord, Leviathans?" Giles stressed the plural, frowning as he turned to reenter his office. "I was under the impression that there was only ever one, likely the same creature as Litanu from Canaanite texts."

"The same, only there were far more than one. The entire story about God destroying the female of the species in order to prevent them from taking over is a load of old tosh that probably made the old Hebrews feel better about things. The same demons showed up as the Kraken in Greek myth and in several other forms globally. Nearly every giant sea monster of legend can be linked to the species." Ethan replied, following Giles into the office and sliding into one of the chairs, looking exhausted.

Giles frowned as he sat himself, busying himself for a moment with drawing out an ancient yellowed tome and opening it. "So why are you asking me for my help?" He said, frowning as he turned to the appropriate page and started making notes on a notepad.

Ethan chuckled, leaning back. "I need two things from you. That you make sure your charge participates in that officious toad's little program for Halloween, and you make sure that that Xander chap is here in the library with us to help us with a little ritual." His grin became positively malicious. "M'lud, I have a cunning plan." He continued, completely deadpan.

Giles, of course, rather predictably groaned and glared at his former friend for the horrid Blackadder pun. And Ethan, utter scalawag that he was, only laughed.

"Out with it." Giles replied in a tightly controlled voice as he resisted the urge to start cleaning his glasses in exasperation.

"It's…" Ethan started, only to be interrupted by the library doors banging open.

Buffy, closely followed by Willow and Xander, stormed in, all three looking thunderous. Giles simply leaned back slightly, and smirked a bit as he looked at Ethan.

"GILES!" Buffy shouted, slamming her bag down on the large central table in the library and stopping at the office door. "Please tell me I can slay Snyder… wait who is this?" the blond slayer narrowed her eyes and glared at Ethan, strangers talking with her Watcher while he had *those* books out was rarely a good sign and usually meant yet another apocalypse was in the works, not that there wasn't one underway that she couldn't fight already.

"You must be Ripper's Slayer." Ethan said, rising to his feet and making a quite florid bow. "Ethan Rayne, at your service." He even made to take the slayers hand for a continental kiss while waggling his eyebrows outrageously, primarily because he knew it would thoroughly annoy Giles.

Sure enough, out came the cloth and those lenses were being polished. "He is assisting me in the matter of those abominations attacking the shores." Giles said a bit stuffily, even as Buffy blinked and let Ethan buss her hand. "And don't call me Ripper."

"Wow, G-man, another member of the Tweed Brigade from Old Blighty?" Xander snarked with a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes as he looked over the newcomer.

Ethan laughed before Giles could object. "Oh, Ripper and I go way back, to when he wore leather jackets and jeans rather than tweed and chased birds rather than books." He replied, holding out a hand to the teen. "So you are the one who impressed Janus." His grin was a trifle malicious as he completely ignored the fulminating glares from Giles and shook Xander's hand. "Breaking a prophecy and giving the Powers behind it collective bleeding ulcers." He reached out and clapped the startled teen's shoulder with his other hand as he moved out into the main area of the library.

"And now they've responded. The Leviathans have always been their ultimate tools, their weapons to cow upstart mortals into submission to their vision of absolute order. The Gods demonstrated their displeasure with the Powers the last time they unleashed the Leviathans. With divine help, humanity was victorious and drove them back into the depths." He paused for a moment as he turned to face the group and repeated himself. "We humans beat them once, now we'll have to do it again in Tantrum 2, Electric Boogaloo."

Buffy glanced over at Willow and Xander, then folded her arms and tilted her head a bit. "So how do we take down these Levi's Tans?" she asked, tapping one foot lightly. The fact that there was an apocalypse going on that she could do absolutely nothing about wore on here badly.

Ethan chuckled. "I've already put things in motion. I believe you were complaining about a certain troll-like individual when you came in?" His smirk was now positively blinding.

"I was planning on vegging out for the night! Giles told me the undead stayed inside and I wanted a break." Buffy was now positively pouting. "And that absolute troll decided we all had to participate in this ridiculous Trick-or-Treat event! Not like there is any candy to be had to begin with!"

"Precisely." Ethan said, still smirking. "You two ladies…" he gestured to the previously quiet Willow and Buffy. "Pick out whatever costume strikes your fancy tomorrow." He then turned slightly "Xander, you'll be helping me with that, I've got permission to recruit a few students. Then on Saturday you'll be assisting Ripper and I with a ritual. Those young ladies with the desire and willingness to fight will find themselves drawn to certain costumes, and the ritual will… enable them to join the battle."

He then paused, looking down for a moment, then shrugged and straightened up, his expression abruptly becoming quite serious. Which alarmed Giles to no end… Ethan… Serious? "Unlike those order-obsessed parasites of the Powers That Be, Janus believes in free will. Will you, Buffy Anne Summers, of your own free will take up the burden of battle against Leviathan?"

Buffy narrowed her eyes and appeared to be about to blurt something out, before she stopped as she took a moment to think before nodding to herself, straightening up, and looking Ethan straight in the eye. "I was Chosen, now I Choose. I will."

Nothing appeared to happen, but Ethan nodded as if something profound had as he turned to the redhead. "Will you, Willow Danielle Rosenberg, of your own free will take up the burden of battle against Leviathan?"

Willow didn't even need to hesitate, she was Buffy's best friend and would follow her anywhere. "I will." She replied, if in a less resolute tone than the Slayer, still firmly enough.

In the distance a bell rang, audible to everybody in the library at a level beyond sound. And in a realm beyond time, beyond space, a two-faced deity of change and transitions smiled, with both of his faces. "Done. And Done."

 _Location – Abandoned Warehouse in Sunnydale  
Time – 3 Days Ago_

Spike had walked in on many an unusual scene in his decades as a Vampire, almost all caused by Drusilla. But this was definitely in the top ten. The eccentric, to put it mildly, seeress was dancing around with a pair of… garment bags? And skipping, do not forget the skipping, and singing a wordless song to herself. In between one twirl and the next she threw one of the bags at Spike, who caught it reflexively.

"Oh Spike! Miss Edith says we must skip and play and celebrate Samhain!" she trilled, skipping over to him and attempting to grab his hands. "Or it will be ashes, ashes, we all fall down!" she giggled, twirling away. "Do you love me Spike?"

Spike, well-used to her ways, smiled a bit. "From eyeballs to entrails, Dru, you know that." He said, entering the room fully and cocking an eyebrow at the bag.

"So you'll play dress up with me and we'll skip and dance and not fall down when the naughty stars get a spanking. Miss Edith says the stars have been very naughty stars and Miss Edith doesn't want us start blowing in the wind." She beamed at him, and Spike sighed.

It was ridiculous, but he'd done many even more ridiculous things for his Sire, and he knew her madness and oracular visions well enough to take messages from 'Miss Edith' more seriously than most would think. After all, those messages had saved both of them many times over.


	2. Chapter 2

_**See the Prologue for the disclaimers. Still don't own anything If that changes, I'll be sure to let you all know.**_

 _ **Thank you to everybody who reads and especially those kind souls who leave reviews..**_

Chapter 01

 _Location – Sunnydale  
Time – 3 Days Ago_

Any ordinary year, take a large number of teenagers, a free period of school, and the promise of free Halloween costumes, and you'd have a happy throng of teens tearing through the racks looking for that perfect costume. Have this take place anywhere other than Sunnydale High, and even this year you'd have much the same if with a bit less joy. But this was Sunnydale High, and the ultimate downer was lurking at the door like a goblin-shaped killjoy. One word… Snyder. The man who could make Christmas depressing, Halloween joyless, and seemed to be on a crusade to banish the concept of 'happy' from the universe.

And he had his clipboard that loathed clipboard, making sure that every single student showed up to experience the full effect of his loathsome glares and surly temper. Some students he mostly ignored, the athletes, the children of those too rich for him to risk offending, but some got both barrels of his hateful gaze.

Of course those unfortunate souls were also quite inured to the baleful effect of The Snyder Gaze, and so it had little to no effect on them. Buffy and Willow breezed into the gym, sliding right past Snyder without even so much as acknowledging the door trolls existence.

"I've got the list Ethan gave me, and I spent last night researching it and I talked with Amy and Ms. Calendar so we're coordinating our selections since Ethan told us to pick from those three and they were sister ships." Willow wasn't quite babbling as they walked, more talking enthusiastically while Buffy grinned and listened a bit absently. "And I know that Ethan told you which ones to pick from, right? That you had to pick one that had never even been laid down so…"

Buffy chuckled and interrupted her best friend. "Yes, yes, yes. I know, he did, and I did as well." She kept on looking around. "When did Marcie come back?" she suddenly asked as she spotted a visible Marcie Ross near the shipgirl costumes.

"Don't know, but she wasn't here yesterday." Willow frowned. "I hope she isn't here to cause any trouble, because that would be bad, her causing trouble I mean. Because she was with the FBI did she run away from them? What if she's here to kill somebody?"

"Wills, babbling." Buffy chuckled, hip checking the redhead lightly. "I'll ask Giles and Ethan about it later." She managed to catch Marcie's eye, though, and nodded slightly without breaking eye contact, causing the other girl to swallow and fidget nervously before grabbing a costume off a hangar almost blindly and fleeing. "But how did she become visible again?"

"Maybe it wore off when people started paying attention to her after those agents took her?" Willow speculated, then shrugged as she too watched Marcie's departure.

"Maybe." Buffy shrugged. "Anyways…" she grinned as she reached a table set up near the back of the room. "Xander! How's life in retail land treating you." She grinned.

Xander chuckled. "Kill me now? It's only been a few hours and I want out, out I say! I'd even prefer… class to this!" he proclaimed. "You made your pick, Buffster?"

Buffy grinned back, then made a show of slowly pulling out the list Ethan had given her, slowly unfolding it, then consulting it dramatically. "While I would really rather indulge my retail therapy instincts…" she grinned as Xander looked momentarily panicked. "Here, circled it."

With a dramatic wiping of the brow, Xander took the paper, looked at it, and then chuckled. "One hot cowgirl, coming up! Spandex, I hardly knew ya!" he volleyed back, causing both Buffy and Willow to chuckle. "You got yours, Wills?"

Willow tapped her chin with one finger, then laughed as Xander made puppy-dog eyes at her and fished out her own list. "Have Amy or Ms. Calendar picked up their costumes yet?"

"That they have, first period. Cordelia got hers as well." Xander replied, taking the list. "Be right back."

He headed to the back room and returned a few minutes later with a pair of costume bags. "Just so you know, Ethan is looking incredibly smug right now, since he won yet another bet with G-Man over what people would pick."

"And just think, in exchange for not having any class, you'll still be here when all the munchkins come shopping this afternoon." Buffy replied, taking her bag as Willow took hers.

"Don't remind me, do not remind me!" Xander declared, waving his hands frantically. "Why I agreed to help…" he shook his head.

"Because you heard 'excused from classes' and swore on your last Twinkie to help?" Willow answered rhetorically.

Buffy joined in "Or maybe because you wanted to look at all the girls wearing spandex?" she grinned, showing she was teasing, then lowered her voice "Nothing's gone wrong yet, I hope?"

Xander theatrically pouted, but in the same low tones replied "Apart from wigging out when the Cordettes trooped over and all picked out special costumes?"

"All of them? Really?" Buffy was a bit surprised, she knew that Cordelia had agreed, but hadn't expected her to recruit her minions, and certainly hadn't expected those minions to be willing to swear the oath that Ethan was insisting on for the special costumes.

He nodded "All of 'em, and Cordelia picked out one like yours, Buffster."

"Well, Ethan gave her the same list he gave me, so I sorta figured she would." Buffy grinned then and waved teasingly "Well have fun with the retail hell! We, on the other hand, are going home cuz we got a free."

Willow joined her in the teasing wave then the pair headed for the exit, once more breezing right past the glowering troll without even acknowledging his petty existence. As they walked down the hallway Buffy spotted Cordelia surrounded by the Cordettes and gave a pleasant nod to the group of popular girls, but didn't say anything to them.

The halls were familiar enough that the pair could navigate them with their eyes closed if necessary, and it almost was considering how deep in thought Buffy was. She and Ethan had spent several hours talking the night before, and Buffy was growing increasingly nervous. It was one thing to agree something was necessary, it was quite another to actually go through with doing it.

Willow, of course, had a fairly good idea what had her best friend so bothered. "Worried about the revelation?" she finally asked softly as they walked outside.

Buffy took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I mean Ethan and Giles both make good points, and they're confident it'll work, but… I can't help totally worrying about it, you know? It's a big step, and I can't stop remembering what happened the first time I tried to tell her. And add this Key thing on top of it, Mom is going to totally wig out."

"Well, maybe a little." Willow responded while waggling her hand a bit. "But what is this about a Key thing? Is that something you talked about after we left?"

Buffy planted one hand on her face, she sucked at keeping secrets from her friends. "Ummm, pretend I didn't say anything maybe?" she asked hopefully.

"Nope, see this?" Willow pointed at her face, set in an expression of rather fierce resolve. "You know what this means, resolve face."

With a sigh Buffy yielded to the dreaded Rosenberg Resolve Face. "Fine, Ethan said that they'd need something a bit more… pertinent to doors, locks, and all that jazz than simple raw power. And there's this cosmic power thingie called the Key that was going to come to me anyways in a few years, so Janus is simply accelerating things." She took a deep breath. "And warned me, because of that whole free will dealie. Tomorrow I'll have a little sister and everybody will remember her always having been there, and since Ethan and Janus know what they are doing, and are blocking the Powers from interfering, they won't 'screw things up royally like the bloody tossers that they are.'"

Willow blinked a few times, walking in silence for a few moments as she considered what Buffy had said. "OK, that's wiggins worthy right there, somehow this key will become a sister and they'll completely rewrite everybody's memories? Or just insert her in?"

Buffy shrugged. "He said it would be more like an insert, and that I'd remember the conversation and thus know. I just don't know, it seems… a bit weird, but I guess I wouldn't mind a little sister out of this mess. It's just… wiggy. And on top of that, tonight I have to deal with Mom being shown the truth and probably flipping out and going ballistic." She sighed and her shoulders slumped. "But it's still the right thing to do."

The pair continued walking to Buffy's house in silence, lost in thought. It didn't take them all that long, and the pair looked at each other in amusement as Giles' ancient car puttered on up, wheezing and banging and amusing both of them immensely.

"It's the Gilesmobile! With extra Ethan action!" Buffy called out as it sputtered to a stop and the two Englishmen climbed out.

Before Giles could respond, Ethan chuckled "I swear, Ripper, this may be a classic but it's in bloody awful shape. Can't you at least take it in to get it worked on?" he was grinning as he joined the teens on the walk with a spring in his step. "So, shall we wait for Ripper to get his voice back or saunter forth while he's still sputtering in defense of his classic car?"

"ETHAN!" Giles snapped, his former friend effortlessly getting under his skin. At least, he thought, the tosser wasn't telling Ripper stories anymore… not that he had any expectation of that state of affairs lasting any longer than the current crisis. "Can you at least try to be serious for once in your life?"

"Nope!" Ethan cheerfully replied, causing the two teens to roll their eyes. "But let's get this done before your dear Slayer loses her temper, yes?"

Buffy was chuckling, but then the nervousness came back full force and she took a deep breath before heading to the door. "I hope this works…" she murmured, almost under her breath, as she opened it. "Mom?"

Joyce was in the living room curled up around a journal when the door banged open and the cavalcade entered. Looking up, she lifted an eyebrow "Buffy, Willow, Mr Giles…" she greeted her daughter, her daughters best friend, and the librarian, while lifting an eyebrow in silent inquiry towards the stranger with them.

"Ethan Rayne, Ms. Summers." He introduced himself with a faint smile. "I am a colleague of Rippers."

"Dear Lord, must you, Ethan? Really?" Giles fretted, shaking his head in resignation before looking over to Joyce. "We have much to discuss, Ms. Summers." He said more seriously.

Joyce for her part blinked then nodded. "Very well. Coffee? Tea?" she asked politely as she gestured for the group to accompany her into the sitting room. Considering that Buffy and Willow had already descended on the kitchen to appropriate sodas she didn't feel the need to ask them what they wanted, and after getting a pair of requests for tea she quickly prepared a pot for her unexpected guests. "So what do we need to talk about?"

Giles took a sip of his tea, suppressing an automatic grimace at the travesty of tea drunk in the colonies, then settled the cup down precisely. "This will be difficult to believe, but you have my word that it is factual, and we shall endeavor to prove to you the truth of what we are telling you." He paused for a moment, then ignored Buffy and Willow as he started on the familiar spiel. "The world is older than you know, and…"

Before he could continue, Ethan snorted. "Do get on with it, Ripper, proof first, explanation second." He suddenly flicked his arm, and a lethally sharp spring-loaded commando knife flashed across the room… straight for Buffy's throat.

 _Location – Spike and Drusilla's Lair  
Time – Yesterday_

Spike looked rather grumpy as he sprawled across a couch moodily. The object of his considerable ire hung on a hangar in front of him. Behind him, Drusilla was dancing again while dressing up one of her dolls in a cute little sailor suit, skipping and singing a song that seemed to consist primarily of 'dess' and 'poi' in no apparent order or reason.

"Couldn't you have at least found a bleedin' British costume for me, luv?" Spike complained, eyes never leaving the white uniform. "Do I look like a bloody Colonial?"

Dru just laughed and suddenly was leaning over the back of the couch, planting a kiss on Spike's forehead. "Miss Edith says you have to wear that one or the kittens will claw and the puppies will bite and everything will go bad bad bad." She brightly explained. "And the naughty stars wouldn't be punished! You want to punish the naughty stars with me, right Spike?"

Spike sighed, shaking his head in resignation. "Oh bollocks." He cursed. "I promised I'd wear it, Dru. But that don't mean I have to like it."

"See? Everything will be Right but spelled Wrong, Miss Edith says so!" Dru trilled, going back to her dancing with wild and carefree abandon as she was now making dit dit dah noises like she was some sort of living telegraph.

Spike just sighed and muttered under his breath, still glaring at the costume.

 _Location – The Summers' Home  
Time – Earlier Today_

"Hold still…. Perfect." Buffy set the scissors down and looked her best friend over. "That costume looks wonderful on you. The three of you are going to look totes awesome." She continued, as she turned back to the mirror and adjusted her hat and headphones. "While I will look totes sexy, I can't believe Mom is OK with this, but she only sighed and let it go… and Snyder is going to have the screaming wiggins."

A quick adjustment to her halter top, making sure the fringe hung just right, adjusted the small shiny metallic bolo tie about her neck, and then the blonde slayer twirled around. "How do I look, Wills?" she asked, admiring the faux buckskin outfit. A pair of reddish brown bikini style pants with white fringe held up by a steel metallic belt with an anchor buckle, a red and brown top… with even more white fringe… and a hat that looked like a cowboy hat made of steel with some rather oddball attachments that made it look the hat was actually the bridge of a warship. The long brown gloves with yet more fringe and blue starry trim as well as a pair of cowboy boots that also appeared to be made out of metal completed the outfit.

Willow was dressed far more conservatively, for certain values of conservative, in an old World War II WAVES uniform, albeit with a scandalously short miniskirt rather than the long skirt typically worn. The entire outfit apart from the shirt was coal black rather than blue, with gold buttons and a bright white shirt. The skirt was held up by a shiny metallic belt with a large belt buckle featuring a golden trident and cog flanked by two N's. "Looking good, Buff, and yeah, Snyder is going to totally wig out, but he hasn't got any real basis for it since he authorized all of the costumes that Ethan distributed personally." Her grin was a bit vicious, even with her eyes hidden behind a pair of fake welder's goggles. She reached up and adjusted her hat, a rather prim and proper naval uniform cap of the sort once worn by WAVES back in the Second World War with a large red, white, yellow and blue badge adorning it that proclaimed the cap as belonging to USS Newport News rather than the more typical naval insignia.

With a few final adjustments the two girls left Buffy's bathroom, heading downstairs but pausing as they heard a furious argument erupting from Joyce's bedroom. The two of them chuckled, then continued on their way listening as Dawn tried to convince her mom that she totally could wear the blouse of her costume tied instead of properly buttoned. With a wicked grin Buffy eventually called out "That never worked for me, Dawn, it won't work for you."

A minute or three later, Dawn came galloping down the stairs looking disgruntled. Having inevitably lost the argument in the face of Parental Authority ™, she was wearing a WAVES uniform blouse paired with a faux grass skirt and black bicycle pants along with the same sort of uniform hat as Willow, only hers had the proper USN badge on it. Around her neck was a disgustingly cheerful and bright plastic flower lei.

"Have the vial?" Buffy asked her sister, lifting an eyebrow at the younger girl.

Dawn nodded and shifted the collar of the blouse a bit, showing the sturdy necklace that held a small vial of Buffy's blood. "Yeah, and this is so boring, how come you get to wear that bikini and I have to dress like this?"

"Because I'm 16 and the Slayer and you aren't?" Buffy replied with a slight smile. "You still look wonderful." She reached out and made a small adjustment to the uniform tie that Dawn was wearing, tweaking it slightly to make it fall perfectly straight again.

A few moments later Joyce walked in wearing her own costume, jeans that were raggedly cut off just above the knees, a heavy canvas shirt that was rolled up around her biceps, a red and white checked kerchief tied on her head and an extremely heavy looking set of tool belts about her waist. A pair of welding goggles similar to those worn by Willow and a set of heavy construction boots completed the outfit. On her arms were temporary henna tattoos of grape-laden vines that swirled up her arms to disappear underneath the sleeves and she was carrying a rather hefty canvas bag.

"Xander called, they're setup in the library and we're supposed to all meet in Ms Calendar's computer lab." Joyce informed the teens. "Ethan and Giles are arranging to distract Principal Snyder to keep him out of our way until we've gotten this taken care of and the others have all checked in that they are en-route. Ready?"

 _Location – Sunnydale High Computer Lab  
Time – Earlier Today_

Buffy, Dawn, Joyce and Willow walked into an already slightly crowded computer lab, as they were among the last to arrive. Willow immediately broke off to join Jenny and Amy, who were wearing nearly identical costumes, the only real differences being a raccoon-tail added to the hat worn by Jenny and that Amy had on a witch's hat rather than a WAVES hat.

Buffy and Dawn, meanwhile, headed over to where Cordelia was holding court with her Cordettes. "Need to talk to you, Queen C." Buffy rather airily pronounced as she passed by.

Cordelia, for her part, was dressed very daringly in an outfit that looked like it belonged on Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras. Bright red hot pants that laced up the sides, thigh high red stockings that were held up by steel clips attached to said hot pants. She had a belt that was nearly identical in appearance to Buffy's with the same anchor motif but in gold rather than steel grey, and was wearing a twist front halter top that was covered in sequins and long black opera gloves. A closely fitted black half vest decorated on the back with a large gold fleur de lys matched the black and gold sun hat she was wearing and completed the majority of the outfit. She was carrying a matching black and gold parasol over one shoulder and was wearing a rather cute pair of red and black half-boots.

"You have your vial, right?" Buffy asked once Cordy had stepped away a bit from the Cordettes, earning an eyeroll and a nod.

"Of course I do, Slay girl." Cordy snarked, tapping the crystal vial that hung from a heavy gold necklace.

Buffy was about to snark back when Ethan and Giles entered the lab. "Ladies, Snyder is dealing with a minor bonfire on the 50 yard line, so…" Ethan gestured grandly. "Follow us, please, and we shall get this all taken care of."

Pretty much everybody looked at least somewhat nervous, fidgeting and adjusting their costumes, but they followed the two men as they moved from the computer lab to the library where an elaborate circle had been laid out on the floor directly over the Hellmouth. Xander was busily setting out the last of the candles that adorned an altar that had originally been a book cart but had been promoted to hold a fairly substantial bust of Janus.

"Here's how we're going to do this." Ethan explained. "As you can see there are placards bearing your names, find yours and stand on it, then link hands with your neighbors." He paused, looking them all over. "I already told you all this individually, but I'm going to do it again. You are all going to be instrumental in saving humanity from enslavement to a power-mad group of so-called Higher Beings. Just ask Ripper, and he'll confirm that I'm a prankster and a joker who never takes anything seriously, but I must say that I am both humbled and awed at how many of you were willing to step forward and take up a burden that nobody should be forced to bear."

He was about to continue speaking when a dreamy voice floated out of the stacks. "Look, Ms. Edith! Here are all the good stars ready to spank the naughty stars! Just like you told me." Out of the shadows drifted Drusilla, the vampiress dressed in a costume much like the girls and holding a doll dressed in a sailor suit. Following her strode Spike dressed in a rather elaborate World War 2 era admiral's uniform.

Spike smirked, taking a drag on a cigarette. "Indeed, luv." He stepped around his sire and leaned insouciantly on one of the bookshelves. "If I have to wear this ridiculous monkey suit, you don't get to try and bloody stake me. I refuse to kill another slayer in this utterly absurd Colonial get up." he tossed off as Buffy grabbed a stake off a nearby table. He took another drag on his cigarette and snubbed it out on the shelf, ignoring Giles' squawk of outrage. "And before you ask, I may be the Big Bad, but I'm pretty bloody fond of this world as it is, and wiping out all the little Happy Meals on legs just isn't on my bloody agenda. So let's get on with it."

Dru was swaying in place, dancing with herself, then stopped and looked up. "And Ms. Edith says that you'll need us to make this work or the naughty stars will eat the kittens and puppies and put us all in chains."

Ethan just cleared his throat. "I was wondering when you'd show up, old boy." He said drolly to Spike, then half-bowed to Drusilla. "And welcome, Drusilla, I'm glad Ms. Edith led you here." He smiled. "If you would take your places, I'm quite certain you heard the instructions, yes?" he gestured to the circle of placards.

Somewhat hesitantly the girls (and Spike) took their places, although Buffy started glaring daggers at Ethan when it turned out that Spike was standing right next to her. "You try anything, Captain Peroxide, and ritual or not I'll stake your undead ass." She growled at him, then almost defiantly took his hand at the mild look from Ethan.

Ethan then knelt before the altar, spreading his arms wide, and a pulse of magic ignited all of the candles simultaneously. In a hollow, echoing voice, Ethan began chanting the words given to him by his god.

"Rogamus vos, Ianus. Vobis dicimus Ianus. Colligitur coram te in nomine tuo. Sumus coram te ostium apertum. Venimus ad te in nomine tuo immutant. Da nobis virtutem. Dona nobis fortitudine tua. In fortitudine Clavis, ut portas aperirent. In virtute tyrannidem venatricis potest vinci. In visione visus Apollo patebit. Aperi ab hostibus iter signavit, O Iane. Fiat justitia, si aeri incidit. Qui uoluntate sacramentum iuravimus, qui quærunt animam tuam benedictionem tibi dicimus. Ut supra dictum est. Et intendimus. Fiat voluntas tua."

The candles suddenly flared into a bonfire, and the eyes of the idol opened. Eldritch energy seemed to crackle and suddenly a small tremor could be felt. A deep voice, felt rather than heard, experienced rather than listened to, spoke but a single word. "Done."

All was still for a fraction of an instant, then a sudden explosion of energy lanced upwards from below. A pure white crackling column of raw power erupted from what had been until instants earlier the most active Hellmouth on Earth. But this power, this pure, holy power, came from no place that could be fairly described as 'hell'. It cleansed, rather than burned.

In that pulse of power, everything changed. And nothing would be the same. In their cosmic lair, the Powers That Be shrieked in rage and fury as their latest gambit crumbled before their eyes. The torch of humanities progress had been lit, a bonfire of change and progress. And deep in the Abyss, a barred portal shattered. Now, what would have been a massacre would be a war. A war to the knife.

 _ **AN: Latin translation courtesy of google. Original text as follows.**_

 _ **We beseech you, Janus. We call to you, Janus. We gather before you in your name. We come before you to open the doorway. We come before you to bring about change in your name. Grant to us your power. Grant to us your might. By the strength of the Key, may the portal be opened. By the strength of the Huntress may tyranny be defeated. By the vision of Apollo may our sight be clear. Open the path sealed by your enemies, oh Janus. Let justice be done even if the sky falls. We who have sworn the oath of our own free will, we who seek your blessing, we call to you. So we have spoken. So we intend. Let your will be done.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Please see Chapter 1 for the disclaimer. Still don't own anything *sighs dramatically***_

 _ **Many thanks to all who have read and reviewed the story, it is greatly appreciated!**_

 **Chapter 02**

The sea was endless and calm, with small and gentle waves ruffling the surface. A few clouds scudded by overhead in the bright blue sky. All in all, it was pretty as a postcard and almost perfectly peaceful. There wasn't the slightest sign of shore, no birds flew overhead, and the very perfection of the scene lent it an artificial air.

Standing on the water, however, were fifteen not very peaceful figures; although even they weren't currently engaged in the sort of purpose for which they'd originally been summoned. Instead they were standing in a circle, all but two holding hands with a small gap where a sixteenth figure should have been.

All of them had their eyes closed, and were breathing so evenly that they appeared to be asleep while standing up. And within this vision-scape, they were each within their own personal vision-scape.

 _Buffy_

Buffy found herself inside a ruined Greek temple, the fluted columns distinctive. It took her a moment to realize she was actually inside the Parthenon in Athens, even if there was no city visible outside, merely an endless sea of stars. She slowly turned around, eyes roving about but not seeing anything, not sensing anything.

Until she did. She whirled about and almost dropped into a combat stance as a massive sense of power manifested directly behind her, right where the ancient temples altar had once been. Between one blink of an eye and the next the Parthenon was no longer a ruin, the marble gleamed and was whole, and the building appearing as it had in its heyday. There was a sense of hustle and bustle about, but the temple was empty apart from herself and three figures garbed in classical Grecian style.

It took her a bare second for her brain to reboot and to realize not only who was in front of her but also where the sense of a crowd came from. Before her stood Artemis, Athena, and Nike. And with her, unseen but sensed more clearly than she'd ever sensed it before, were the multitudes of Slayers who had come before her, forever at her back in support. She was momentarily tempted to kneel, but she didn't, a deep atavistic sense that it would never be appropriate for a Slayer to kneel before anybody, not even a trio of goddesses.

Evidently they didn't mind, because Athena stepped forward slightly. "Hail and welcome, Buffy Summers, She Who Was Chosen and Slayer." Then a slight smile cracked the famously calm expression. "Hail and Welcome Montana, She Who Chose."

Buffy blinked and felt a… shift. The presence behind her seemed to congeal and move within, and suddenly knowledge flooded into her mind. The precise recipe for Navy coffee done right, exactly how much fuel oil was needed for any given range, the exact procedure for UNREP for any given destroyer class, the precise rotation and elevation rate of a triple 16"/50 gunhouses in any given conditions, and exactly how to set the proximity fuses for the 5"/54 twins. She even knew why they were gunhouses and not turrets like she'd always thought which really wigged her out. She suddenly knew so much of the minutiae of the ship that it took her a second for even her senses to register that the goddesses were still talking.

Buffy took a quick breath and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, I was… processing, yes, processing is of the good." She took a deeper breath, then steadied down. "All this knowledge…"

Artemis laughed lightly as Athena looked slightly disgruntled. "She does that, dear. Come, Nike and I will teach you what you must know while our dear sister reboots." Her voice was lightly teasing as she effortlessly used 'modern' lingo, not speaking nearly as formally as Athena had and looking quite a bit more laid back.

Nike was far smaller than the others, and rather perkier as well. As the scenery around them shifted and flowed, she bounced on over to Buffy, her elaborate Grecian dress shifting into jeans, t-shirt, and yes a pair of Nike sneakers. Suddenly the three of them were on a white sand beach.

"Alright!" Nike beamed up at the actually taller Slayer. She physically grabbed Buffy's hand and spun her around to face the ocean. "Lesson One! Summoning your rigging!" and promptly pushed Buffy from behind causing the Slayer to stumble onto the waves. "In you go! And don't forget, VICTORY!" she pumped her fist with a great deal of enthusiasm.

Suddenly a bunch of targets appeared, floating on the waves. Artemis chuckled and walked out onto the water next to her. "Focus within yourself and sound general quarters, your fairies will do the rest getting your rigging deployed. When operating from a proper base there are other procedures which will be less draining but the basics are the same." She explained, while Nike continued with a ridiculously cute cheerleader routine on the shore and Athena looked disgruntled that Artemis had condensed an eight hour lecture on the minutiae of how fairies worked, how rigging worked, and the rest into a single paragraph.

"She's pouting." Buffy observed softly to Artemis, even as she did what she was told. She felt within herself, and realized exactly how to do what she had been told almost instinctively. Seconds later she heard the blaring alarm of the General Quarters signal in her skull and felt weights settling on her body. On her back a backpack of sorts appeared, supporting four massive triple 16"/50 turrets on cantilevers, along with the soaring sense of a superstructure between them. On her legs armored chaps appeared, bristling with quad Bofors. On each arm vambraces appeared, each festooned with a pair of twin 5"/54 turrets in a stepped super-firing configuration. Heavy steel gauntlets appeared on her hands with a pair of teeny tiny Oerlikons above her knuckles. She could feel her boilers heating up to combat temperatures, her turbines spooling up, and her senses expanding and shifting as she gained a new total awareness of her environment thanks to American Radar Master Race bullshit.

She lifted her head, narrowed her eyes, and zeroed in on the targets. Calculations appeared in her vision in instants, precise trajectories and angles… firing solutions. Behind her she heard Nike still cavorting about while Artemis was a steady presence at her side, a fellow huntress preparing her for the hunt. "Ready." She reported quietly.

"Then fire at will." Artemis said equally quietly, while behind them Nike was now holding up a big sign reading 'FIRE' in bright letters that constantly changed colors while Athena just looked a tad fondly disgruntled at her sisters' antics.

A thunderous cacophony of sound and light erupted from the barrels of Montana's weapons… and since when did she think of herself as Montana rather than as Buffy, Buffy mused in the privacy of her own thoughts. And again, and again… the smaller weapons on her vambraces firing a nearly continuous stream of shells, while the far larger rifles in the main turrets were slower, steadier, yet still faster than she had expected from the new knowledge downloaded into her head. "Why…"

Before she could even finish asking the question Artemis smiled slightly. "You are still the Slayer, even now. And your fairies are the spiritual incarnations of all of the past slayers. You are faster, stronger, deadlier than your class would otherwise indicate." A surprisingly gentle hand rested on her shoulder. "That is what you need to learn to manage. Let us try moving now to get you used to that."

 _Cordelia_

She felt listless, weak. As if she'd been awake for a week straight without eating. Simply staying standing seemed a chore beyond endurance. She should have been goggling, the landscape she found herself in was wondrous. A circular Greek temple, vibrant and beautiful. And in front of her the most impressive bit of man-candy she'd ever seen.

Chiseled abs, pecs that look like they could be used to bounce bullets, biceps that looked fit to bench press semis. And a truly gorgeous face that any girl in her position would swoon over. And he was smiling at her, which would normally make her swoon but she was far too exhausted for that.

He was saying something, but she couldn't make it out over the pounding in her ears. He stepped forward, catching her as she suddenly lost her balance… his hand touched her breastbone lightly and suddenly she felt a burning sensation in her chest. Energy seemed to be flooding into her from that suddenly painful spot that she dimly remembered was where that vial of blood Buffy had insisted she wear had hung.

She blinked a few times, suddenly able to catch her breath as the warmth spread. She could feel life in her limbs, could command her muscles once more, and the Greek Adonis set her on her feet. Her head cleared, and she took in details. Her eyes widened in realization, this wasn't some random hot Greek, this was Apollo, and he was still smiling at her. He set her on her feet and stepped back, regarding her with that same knowing smile.

"Welcome, my Anointed Oracle, freed from the plots of those who would destroy her." His voice was honey over wine, sending shivers through her.

She blinked again, mouth opening and closing for a moment, then more things slotted into place inside her head. "Oracle? Me?"

Apollo nodded. "Indeed, as was destined. You have the Sight, the gift of foreknowledge, of far-knowledge. It lay dormant within you, and in the fullness of time the Powers would have destroyed you for it, for they believe that they alone are allowed to know the future."

"What do you mean?" Cordy demanded, Queen C finally getting some of her equilibrium back, enough so to make demands of a god.

Apollo almost smirked, but then his expression sobered and became almost sad. "It is a sad tale, what they had planned for you. I would spare you, but you deserve the truth of their plans."

He started to explain. Within thirty seconds, Cordy was shaking in anger, in a minute she was absolutely furious. By the time he was done, she was utterly incandescent with rage.

There was absolute silence for barely five seconds before Cordy exploded with a single word "Why."

"The Powers fear true Oracles, for they cannot control what secrets they See. And so they systematically destroy them. Lesser seers can be controlled and manipulated, their visions directed in the paths that they wish, but a true Oracle, once confirmed in her powers, is immune to their manipulations." Apollo explained, then sighed, looking rather melancholy. "You are not the only member of your company who was victimized in this manner, Drusilla was also meant to be an Oracle, and she too suffered terribly at the hands of the Powers. Angelus always was one of their favored agents, first unwittingly, later eagerly as he sought a false redemption."

Cordy nodded as she listened, frowning. "You mean that crazy vamp chick who was dancing around with a doll?"

"Yes." Apollo replied with a slight laugh, then there was a small shimmer and Drusilla appeared in the same vision-scape, arms crossed and pouting pretty as can be.

"Ms. Edith says I'm to be nice to you!" Dru said chirpily then made an overly elaborate curtsey to Apollo. "Did you tell Ms. Edith to say that?"

Cordy took a step back, and felt a faint stirring inside her. Moments later she was wearing her rigging which looked remarkably like Buffy's albeit scaled up slightly for her larger frame, but none of the cannons were pointing at any particular targets. Dru, meanwhile, giggled and was soon wearing her own. A backpack with many antenna protruding from it at all sorts of crazy angles, and on her right arm was a large flat deck-board with three prominent antenna mounted on it as well.

Apollo chuckled and rested one hand on Dru's shoulder, then guided her forward to stand next to Cordy, placing his other hand on Queen C's. "You are sisters in spirit now, my dear Drusilla, my dear Cordelia. You both possess the Sight." His voice was soft, yet commanding. "Go forth and use My gifts well, my children. Make the Powers howl."

 _Dawn_

She blinked, and blinked again. The sun was baking down on her as she felt herself lying on a white sand beach. She was exhausted, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep to the sound of crashing waves and squawking seabirds. The sun was nice, the sand was comfortable… until a shadow came over her.

"You are in my sun." she mumbled softly, blinking sleep out of her eyes and looking up. Her eyes widened immediately when she saw a beautiful woman she'd never seen before wearing a Greek chiffon. "Uhhhh, who are you?"

The woman simply smiled, bending down and tapping something on Dawn's chest. A gentle warmth spread through Dawn's chest, reviving her and causing her to be able to prop herself up on her elbows.

"My name is Hera, dear child." Came the age-roughened yet still gentle voice. "My daughter will be here shortly, but I thought it would be kinder if I handled the initial introduction." The goddess paused for a moment, then her lips quirked. "And forget about some of the more ridiculous stories about me, Apollo always loved embellishing and inventing tales to inspire 'art' amongst mortals, and my dear husband is still trying to come up with a ridiculous story that the majority of mortals finally won't believe about his fictional 'exploits'." Her voice was fond, without any of the annoyance or condemnation you'd expect in it.

A booming laugh sounded, and Hera was pulled upright by an arm around her and spun around by what could only be Zeus. "Don't go spoiling it, love." He rumbled before turning his attention to Dawn, extending one hand to help the girl to her feet. "But yes, my son and I come up with these ridiculous stories to try and get mortals to actually think critically. Never really worked, sadly, people back then believed everything and anything."

Once she was on her feet, Dawn brushed off some stray sand and straightened out her… well it was no longer a costume, it felt far too real to be that, so her uniform might work, and settled the lei around her neck just so. "Where am I?" she asked immediately, looking around.

"Inside your own mind, my dear child." Hera replied with a matronly smile.

"Indeed, after all, you volunteered to become a κορίτσι πλοίο, so it is the least we could do is help ease your transition. My daughters are helping the others as we speak, but I asked them to give Hera and I a few moments first." Zeus continued the explanation, stroking his beard as he continued to hold his wife to his side.

"Ummm, why do I get special treatment? I mean, wouldn't the King and Queen of the Gods be more interested in Buffy?" Dawn asked curiously, having easily translated the Greek term for 'ship girl' in her head. Giles had always said she was a language prodigy.

Zeus and Hera both grinned at that. "Well, dear." Hera began. "Your sister is the Slayer, yes. And Cordelia is the Oracle. But you are special in your own way, and will be just as vital to success."

Dawn blinked a few times in confusion. "Me? But I'm nothing special, just Buffy's little sister."

"That is special enough, dear child, but you will find that you are just as special as she is." Came the kindly answer from the Queen and Mother of the Gods.

Before Dawn could reply there was a slight shimmer and suddenly Nike appeared, now garbed in a Sunnydale High cheerleader outfit. "Water first, explanations later, before Athena shows up and goes into Full Professor Mode. I already had to listen to her do that for Willow, Jenny and Amy, don't want to hear it again! In the water! Move move move!" the rather hyperactive little goddess spun Dawn around and propelled her onto the water even as Athena and Artemis appeared.

Dawn opened her mouth to protest, but Nike wasn't slowing down. "Now sound General Quarters in your head and summon that rigging! Unless you want to listen to eight hours of explanation about sub-quantum p-space morphology as applied to non-Euclidean spaces in a Euclidian frame within the Quantum Foam."

"It's T-space, T, not P!" Athena hollered, hands on her hips and looking quite disgruntled as everybody else broke out laughing, including Dawn. A moment later a somewhat sheepish expression crossed her face and Athena looked like she really wanted to perform an epic double face-palm. "I walked right into that didn't I."

Dawn was still chuckling as she closed her eyes and followed the instructions of Nike, and within a moment she felt an unaccustomed weight settling on her back, legs and arms. Three triple 12" turrets cantilevered out of the heavy backpack, two on her right, one on her left, while below the one on her left a box-like hangar structure and a pair of floatplane catapults balanced the backpack. Heavy boots appeared on her feet, while a light lamellar steel skirt girded her waist. Leather bracers encircled her forearms with a single 5"/38 twin turret on each wrist.

"Good, good. Now let's get a few practice runs in." Nike grinned, her enthusiasm infectious. "Won't substitute for actual combat experience, but at least you'll know how to use everything when the time comes."

 _Group_

Buffy was the first one to move, followed soon after by Cordelia then the rest. A brief moment of disorientation as hands were dropped and the girls checked over their now deployed rigging. Before anybody could say anything, though, there was a sudden flash of light and suddenly Spike was standing in the center of the circle with his hands clasped behind his back and looking almost military in bearing, despite wearing his beloved leather jacket over an admiral's uniform.

Drusilla promptly moved forward and took up position to his right, bouncing cheerfully on her toes.

Spike closed his eyes for a moment then looked Buffy right in the eye. "The great poof will dust himself laughing if he saw me now." His lips curled into a bit of a smirk. "But at least I'm not competing in the Broodlympics. Alright, ladies, sound off."

Buffy glared at the insult to her, sadly absent yet again, boyfriend. "USS Montana BB-67, reporting combat ready." She almost snapped.

Cordelia went next, also giving Spike a gimlet eye. "USS Louisiana BB-71, ready to go." She drawled, then blinked as she realized she'd somehow acquired a Deep South accent.

Dawn piped up before anybody else could speak. "USS Hawaii CB-3 ready and able, Spike!"

Jenny was the next to speak, clearing her throat. "USS Des Moines CA-134, ready." She said shortly.

Almost before Jenny stopped speaking Willow spoke up. "USS Newport News CA-148, here!" as she flipped up her goggles and grinned.

Amy spoke almost in harmony with Willow "USS Salem CA-139, ready to light things up!" as she summoned a small fireball to play over one hand and gave the former Vampire turned admiral a smirk.

One of Cordelia's few real friends, and her most reliable minion in the Cordettes spoke up next. "USS Tarawa CV-40, reporting in." Aura said, grounding the M1 Garand she carried on the ocean surface as she spoke.

Harmony wasn't far behind Aura, though. "USS Fargo CL-106 here." She somehow seemed less ditzy as she stood there wearing the rigging of a Fargo class light cruiser.

Another girl in almost perfectly identical rigging and outfit to Harmony then spoke up. "USS Huntington CL-107, ready to run and able to fight!" Kathy Wexford reported, her tone very similar to her sister ships.

A more athletic girl then piped up, the heavier rigging of an Oregon City-class heavy cruiser visible on her. "USS Oregon City CA-122, here!" Aphrodesia seemed pretty enthusiastic, almost bouncing on her toes.

Two girls wearing the rigging of a Juneau-class anti-aircraft cruiser spoke up in near perfect harmony, each of them looking almost like perfect twins if one ignored that one was black and one was white. "USS Fresno CL-121 reporting!" and "USS Spokane CL120 reporting!" were said in counterpoint by Shanice and Gwen respectively.

A girl who seemed to almost fade into the background glanced nervously over towards Buffy before clearing her throat and softly saying "USS Roanoke CL-145." Marcie Ross then hunched in a little on herself, before finding herself enveloped in a gentle hug from the next one to speak.

"USS Dionysus AR-21, reporting in." Joyce said softly as she gave the shy formerly invisible girl a hug despite the pairs rigging.

Drusilla, of course, couldn't be bothered with being formal or proper in reporting in, instead she grabbed Spike's hands and spun him around while caroling "USS Wright CC-2, Admiral Spikey!" her subsequent kiss right on Spike's lips drawing giggles from most of the other girls there and a groan from Spike, although he noticeably didn't object.

"Dru luv…" Spike shook his head, albeit more in fond resignation than any true annoyance, then once she released him he straightened up. "Alright, you lot. To start with, you are all now ship girls, congratulations and all that. I'm sure the big folks upstairs gave you lot the bloody briefing already. To clarify, Dru and I aren't vampires anymore, or else we'd be bloody dust from that eruption of holy energy back in the real world. She's a ship girl and that Ares chap said I'm a bloody eternal admiral whatever the buggering hell that means. Most of you lot don't know me, those that do ain't got no bloody reason to trust me. I don't bloody care, we work together or this world is bloody finished. Don't know about you lot, but I sorta like my future to not include being enslaved by some bloody great gits with delusions of competence."

He paused, slowly turning to look at them. "I'm dividing you lot up into three groups. Montana, Louisiana, Hawaii, and the witchy sisters, you six are the heavy task force, Buffy, you are in command of them. Rest of you are the escort task force, Aura, you are our only carrier, and you'll be in charge of that crew. Joyce, Dru and I are the command and shore element, we clear?"

He had barely stopped speaking, and nobody had had a chance to respond regardless, when suddenly there was a shimmer and the entire group was back in the library in a ring all holding hands. Xander was still in the center, next to the blazing pillar of energy that illuminated the room brighter than any mere electric light, while Giles was still standing outside the circle. Of Ethan, there was no sign.

There was a general shifting, hands dropping, eyes blinking, then suddenly all the new ship girls moved in an almost eerie synchronicity, all clapping one hand to their ear and listening intently.

Dru was the first to speak. "P-8 patrol reporting Abyssal force inbound to the Port of Los Angeles, ETA one hour." Her voice was devoid of the normal dreamy Dru-lements and actually sounded quite like a professional dispatcher.

Spike growled, then closed his eyes. "Alright, we won't have time for any bloody kumbaya. Follow me, I can hot wire one of the school buses and we'll get to the beach." He turned with a dramatic flair of his leather coat and strode towards the library exit, the girls following him without any of the chatter that normally characterized teenage girls moving in a group.

Of course there was an obstacle in their path, one slightly singed and furious Snyder was making his trollish way down the hallway and immediately purpled upon seeing the group. "What do you think you are doi.. URK"

Spike never broke stride, simply grabbing the Snyder beast by the throat and hoisting him off the ground, taking two more strides, and hurling him down a cross corridor with contemptuous ease.

"OK, you're still the big bad, but that was awesome." Buffy actually sounded rather impressed by that. "You didn't kill him, though, right? Since he's off limits for slaying and if I don't get to slay him nobody else does either."

Spike snorted. "Listen for yourself, luv, bloody wanker is still breathing for now. Even as a vampire I'd be too bloody ashamed to count him as a kill."

The group reached the parking lot where the old school buses were still parked. Spike cracked open one of the doors and climbed on, but that's where things started to fall apart. The moment Buffy stepped on the stairway to board the bus it leaned over, suspension groaning and the bus nearly tipped over before she hastily stepped back.

"Oh bloody hell, that's Plan A shot to soddin' shit. Plan B then, , we get in some bleeding exercise before battle and bloody run down to the beach and you girls deploy, Dru, Joyce, stay on the beach or very close in shore, neither of you are armed well enough to really belong out in the field and I'll be needing your comms, Dru, but we don't have any real facilities here." Spike looked like he wanted to face palm. "Bloody idiots didn't bother telling any of us that you girls now massed the same as the bloody ships, sort of, did they."

There was scattered grumbling, but the group started jogging off towards the beach, maintaining a rather brisk clip of it thanks to the various benefits being ship girls gave, little things like vastly increased endurance so long as their bunkers… err stomachs… were full. And thanks to the conditions of the spell, all of them were full up in every respect, if quite nervous at the prospect of actually going into battle. None but Buffy, Cordelia, Amy, Jenny and Willow had ever been in any sort of combat situation after all, nor had the ship spirits that they had merged with. And even those who had had never fought at sea. As they ran they looked at each other and tried to focus, some of them repeating procedures and such under their breath as they tried to settle their nerves.

The group reached the beach, pounding down the sand and into the surf and promptly shook out into three distinct groupings.

"Task Force Slayer will take the lead." Buffy commanded, shifting into tactical command while her mother and Dru waited right beyond the surf line and Spike remained on shore. "We've got the most combat experience here. Rest of you stay in escort formation around Aura, I mean Tarawa and watch for any leakers. Tarawa, put up your CAP and rest of you send out scouts, prep a strike package."

"Task Force Cordettes are on it." Aura replied, winking at Cordy who rolled her eyes in response. "Launching… now." She lifted her rifle, slapped a stripper clip in, and rapidly fired off two shots which erupted into two squadrons of F8F Bearcats.

From the rest of the ships in the formation floatplanes launched, heading out to provide an outer scout picket around the formation.

The Sunnydale Ship Girls were going to war.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Please see the disclaimers in the prologue. Still own nothing.**_

 _ **Continued thanks to all who have commented and reviewed, reviews and feedback are invaluable to me as I'm still learning to write better. Note that I've sadly never served in the military (serious knee injury in college ended any hope of that) so my understanding of military radio procedure is not that great despite the research I've been able to do and reading many sources. I always fear that it sounds fake, so if anybody is willing to help with that I'd appreciate it.**_

 _ **That all being said, thanks for reading and I hope you continue to enjoy!**_

 **Chapter 03**

 _Location – Joint Base Pearl Harbor – Hickam_

They'd been attempting summonings on a near constant basis for weeks now, with nothing to show for it but an endless collection of images of a lone bubble or two showing up in the summoning chamber. Most of the staff had visibly given up, the rest were resigned but too stubborn to show it. Failure after failure after failure was horrid on their already battered morale even as the rest of the world were summoning ship girls left and right.

So it was a dispirited group of officers and enlisted who gathered for Pearl's latest attempt. Stacks of bauxite rocks, barrels of fuel oil, all were in the designated places around the pool. They'd been there since the start and there was talk of giving up and shipping the supplies to allied nations that had successful summoning programs. They gathered together yet another time and the ceremony commenced yet again. There was little enthusiasm, hope had pretty much died out weeks earlier and now they were just going through the motions for a lack of anything better to try now that there were no functional combat vessels in Pearl Harbor.

The lights dimmed, as expected, the cameras were trained with the operators expecting nothing more than the lone bubble or two to add to the now epic collection of high definition videos of an empty pool graced with a single itty bitty bubble.

Only it wasn't a mere bubble or even two or three. To the shocked surprise of everybody there was a massive burst of bubbles, a virtual explosion of them filling the summoning pool and making it impossible to see what was within. When they cleared the stacked supplies had vanished and a single girl stood on the surface of the summoning pool. She wasn't overly tall, but still had an immense sense of presence. Wearing an old fashioned admiral's coat loose over a white dress uniform shirt and a short skirt, and with an old fashioned WAVES cap on her head she had her hands clasped lightly behind her.

A moment later she drew herself up to attention, as her eyes settled on the Admiral standing at the forefront of the summoning party. "USS Arizona, BB-39, reporting for duty, Sir." Came the surprisingly deep and calm voice accompanied by a postcard perfect salute.

Then something even more unexpected occurred. Unnoticed due to hiding behind the taller girl; a second girl, much younger and smaller in appearance with her hair in cute pigtails and dressed like a rather adorable young Girl Scout, stepped to Ari's side and snapped to a looser position of attention and a much more casual salute. "USS Ward, DD-139, reporting for duty! And yes I shot first!" said with a rather bombastic puffing out of a destroyer-scale chest as she turned the salute into an enthusiastic fist pump. Into the moment of silence that followed that declaration, Ari reached out and ruffled the smaller girl's hair.

The room held its collective breath.

And utter pandemonium broke out.

 _Location – Just off Sunnydale_

Montana, and Buffy still thought it odd to think of herself that way but it seemed appropriate when she was at sea, skated through the rolling waves of the Pacific at 25 knots, barely even exerting herself but keeping her Slayer speed in reserve so as to maintain formation.

"Tarawa, get a full strike package into the air but hold it back. P-8's are showing the Abyssal formation is maintaining course and we'll intercept well short of Los Angeles, I want the strike to go in right as Task Force Slayer engages." Her eyes roamed the horizon, even as her radar kept up a constant vigil on her surroundings. "When we're at 50 miles I'll want you to hold in a racetrack with the rest of your task force, while we go in close for the slugging match."

"Got it, hold at 50 miles." Came the nervous response from the green carrier. "But, umm, I don't actually have any attack birds. I've got F4U-4's and F8F-1's, but no attack birds in my hangars at all." She admitted, fiddling with her Garand and looking sheepish.

Buffy took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, there went that plan. "Do you have rockets for your Corsairs?" she asked as she searched her new memories.

"Yeah, I've got HVARs and Tiny Tims in my mags and my Corsairs are fitted for them." Aura replied.

"OK, load them up, it's the best shot we've got with that. Use the Tinys on any big ships and the Holy Moses on the escorts." After getting Aura's acknowledgement, Buffy turned her attention to her task force. "Dawn, I want you to stick with Jenny, Amy and Willow and cover Cordelia and my backs, you don't have the armor to get stuck in like we will be and can best give those three some heavy throw weight with your 12 inchers. You four, wait for us to open up and get those demons attention, then hose them down, focus on the lighter ships first."

Dawn looked extremely disgruntled and opened her mouth to protest, but Buffy had her finger on Dawn's lips before she could say a word. "Neh, you don't have the belt or the deck for standing in the line, Dawn, and Mom would have my hide if I let you do that. You may be the toughest cruiser we've got, but you are still a cruiser."

Dawn glared but nodded a bit sullenly, muttering under her breath about how unfair it was to play the mom card but falling into formation with the three other cruisers while Buffy and Cordelia moved into a line abreast formation.

Buffy grimaced a bit and tapped her ear. "Task Force Slayer to Wright, can you get me a direct link to the P-8 shadowing the Abyssal force?"

Back near the beach Dru was skating hither and yon, treating the waves as if they were a skating rink on a mill pond, and having a grand old time, all while keeping up a running communications report to Spike. Getting the call from Montana, she did a little pirouette as she replied. "Linking you in now, Slayer-Actual!" she chirped, positively chirped.

Buffy shook her head slightly, paused, then spoke up. "This is Slayer Actual, Flagship of Task Force Slayer. We are nine zero nautical miles north northeast of your position and closing on an intercept vector at 25 knots, expecting to enter engagement range in two hours, over."

There was a surprised squawk over the radio, followed by a rather irate voice demanding identification.

"This is USS Montana, BB-67. Call sign Slayer-Actual, repeating we are nine zero nautical miles north northeast of your position and closing on intercept vector with the bogies." Buffy grimaced, she was so tempted to slip into her more normal California Ditz Slayer routine, but she knew full well that she needed all the credibility she could get to make this work despite how little she knew of proper radio procedure. Normally she'd let her radiomen handle this. "We require position updates on this channel."

Buffy paused as she listened to the response, shaking her head as she kept her hand on her ear. "Negative, we do not possess any datalink systems, neither dash 11, -14 or -16. Either verbally transmit data over this channel or, well, I do have my cell phone, if you want to text it to me."

She huffed at the response. "An hour ago I was, now I'm a ship girl. Look, are you going to give me my data or will I have to send a flight of Bearcats to buzz your happy ass? Yes, I've got a carrier. No, I can't use it to strike the Abyssals."

She shook her head but left the channel open, calling out. "Tarawa, send a flight of F8F's to buzz the P-8, if your fairies want to do some acrobatics let them." She paused a second. "Yes, I am making good on my promise. You seem like totally incapable of listening otherwise."

Aura sighed and fired off a single shot from her Garand, sending a number of Bearcats winging off into the distance. "Flight launched." She reported a bit nervously. "Told them to formate and escort, if that's OK."

Buffy nodded. "Well, you'll have friendly company in 10, and no they DON'T have the same IFF gear you have, they are Second World War era birds you brainless waste of atmosphere. They don't have Link-16 EITHER. Now get me that data or..."

A moment later and Buffy started sputtering in anger. "Wright, raise PACFLT and tell them their idiot P-8 jockey is refusing to give me tactical data I need."

Drusilla giggled, turning another graceful spinning leap off of a wave and sticking the landing perfectly. "You got it, Slayer! One irate four star coming up!"

Buffy broke the channel and just grumbled. She had an SG-3 surface search set capable of around 25 nautical miles of range in typical conditions which was uncomfortably close for an initial tactical appreciation. If she could get proper tactical data from the P-8 the Abyssals would probably not know she was coming until she came within visual range, whereas if she had to send scout planes of her own out they'd probably figure out something was coming and be prepared for her. She hated it when the enemy was prepared for her, that way led to ruined shoes, demon goo on her pants, and mouthfuls of vampire dust.

The group of ship girls continued skating over the waves at 25 knots for another ten minutes before Buffy called out "OK, Tarawa and escorts, break off here and go into racetrack east of the Channel Islands, zig zag across base track to throw off any sub attacks since we've got no ASW assets. Task Force Slayer, with me, prepare for a speed run. Tarawa, have your Corsair strike roll in one minute after we break the visual horizon from the enemy, want them nice and disordered when you strike to minimize AA effectiveness."

As the carrier and her escorts broke off as ordered, Buffy put her hand back up to her ear and chuckled. "Believe me now?" she asked perkily, edging up her speed to 28 knots and smiling as the others matched her. "Thought that would convince you, it's a long story and not for an unsecured line. Get me positions and vectors, and any IDs. OK… OK… so four of the big dreadnoughts and eight of the smaller ones? We're talking about the ones that look like a metal shark with a ship built into it? OK… I'll connect you to my radio room and keep us updated, Slayer-actual out."

She then took a deep breath and looked over at Cordelia. "They've got four of those big dreadnought like ones, and eight cruiser like ones, they're moving in three columns of four each with the big ones in the middle."

USS Louisiana, AKA Cordelia Chase, AKA Queen C, nodded in thought. "I think we should focus fire down the big ones while the foursome take the cruisers under fire." The now former cheerleader mused, the briefings and teachings of Athena having been rather valuable to her since contrary to what Willow thought she wasn't stupid.

"Yeah, we need to start eliminating guns from them fast as possible, we outrange them but there are more of them. Open up at 30k front to back?" Buffy looked pensive for a moment. "Vampires are so much easier than this, they'll be too far away to appreciate my sparkling wit!"

Cordy smirked "Well, that's half true at least."

Buffy rolled her eyes, leaned over, and punched Cordy right in the bicep, lightly enough it did nothing more than sting for a second. She then spun around and continued skating *backwards* at the same speed. "OK, listen up. Cordy and I got the four heavies, you four take the eight lights. Focus fire to bring them down as quickly as possible, got it? We'll begin the engagement at 30k yards, then maintain a minimum of 25k yards."

Willow spoke up "We won't be able to engage until 29k, Buffy." She pointed out.

Buffy nodded. "Understood, but I'll be timing it to range to the center column of heavies, the near column of lights should be at around 29.5k at that point. I know it's at the edge of the Mk 16's performance but you should be able to range in. If they change formation, we'll change the timing, but who shoots what will stay, kay? Engagement should take place near Santa Barbara Island."

Willow and the others got that slightly distracted and unfocused look that told Buffy they were focusing internally before nodding, causing the Slayer to smile slightly. She spun back around and continued skating south, glancing over and seeing that Cordy was having to work at maintaining what was for her a high speed run. For Buffy, with her Slayer upgrades on top of being a ship girl now, this was an easy lope. She could triple this speed easily but if she did she'd outrun all support and be vulnerable.

She did, however, take advantage of her, well, advantages by spinning around and watching the Channel Islands as they slowly receded behind her. She'd seen them on whale watching trips when she was little, since the tours out of LA generally spent time around them, and she'd always enjoyed those trips with her parents and, thanks to her new memories courtesy of Janus, her little sister. The swells of the waves didn't bother her balance at all, she skated up and over them with negligent grace and if it weren't for the fact that they were steaming for battle she'd mistake this trip for a vacation of sorts.

Meanwhile, back on the beach in Sunnydale, Spike was pacing deep in thought while Dru cavorted out in the waves and Joyce had come back ashore and now stood pensively near him. He'd been talking with the admiral in command of the Pacific Fleet and had had to reveal his courtesy commission in the Royal Navy and convince the admiral to contact the United Kingdom embassy to verify his identity, neither of which had gone unnoticed by Joyce who was now considering him with significantly less suspicion.

"Oi, doesn't make me anything but the big bad, you know." He finally said, as the silent regard wore on him just enough, which is to say not much at all, to set him off.

"Oh of course, Commander Pratt, or is it now Admiral Pratt?" Joyce was smiling slightly, hands clasped behind her. "Going to take him up on the offer and move operations down to Oxnard? If anything happens to the girls I'd rather have a proper dry dock to work with than an improvised bathtub and my tools."

Spike grimaced "That would mean sending you two completely bloody unescorted down the coast, or bringing up great big sodding trucks to carry you until you get your heads around being ship girls." The former vampire turned Admiral replied. "Plus I don't know how much we want to let the Navy control us, we're not bloody 'typical' in any way. Those girls may not trust me, but I've got to make sure I do what's right for them."

"So make them keep you in command and make them agree to keep the girls together." Joyce replied, watching as Drusilla continued skating around like a small child on an ice rink, albeit with far more grace and skill, and having far too much fun for the image of an evil vampiress. "We need the facilities and logistics support, I doubt we can keep the girls fed otherwise."

Drusilla meanwhile skated back ashore with a great big beaming smile on her face, looking honestly happy for the first time that Spike could remember. "So tell the bald eagle sailor men that we'll work with them, but on our terms." She said in her singsong voice. "Ms. Edith that I now know is Mr. Apollo says we can't not trust anybody, we have to risk trust or guarantee failure." She danced around a bit, then enveloped both Joyce and Spike in a massive hug. "And if we go to the base then Joyce can make hot chocolate like we both like it, Spikey!"

Spike huffed a bit, then nodded and dug his cell phone back out, before being stopped by Drusilla. "Don't have to, Admiral Spikey Spike! I've called them and they're sending a pair of big burly trucks with big wheels and big engines to bring Joyce and I who are not fat but only big steeled to their pretty base!" she went back to hugging the two of them, much to their bemusement.

"You know, I should be concerned that I'm being hugged by two vampires." Joyce said, shaking her head.

"Former vampires, luv." Spike replied with a smirk. "Vampire would have gotten turned into dust flambé by what the big bloody gods did to the sodding hellmouth. In fact there's the distinct smell of vast amounts of vampire dust on the wind, along with the tang of decomposing demon goo. I think Buffy would be bored if she had to go back to slaying here, nothing left to bloody slay."

Whatever Joyce would have said in response was preempted as a pair of HEMTTs pulled up to the beach, Dru having given the drivers directions while they were talking and drawing an amused and annoyed look from Spike since she'd obviously decided for him in this case.

Under his breath, Spike muttered "Bloody seers." Before striding to the trucks, with the repair and command ships behind him. "You wankers our ride down to fabulous downtown Oxnard?"

A female Marine sergeant whose nametape read Collins was in command of the truck detachment. She climbed down from the cab of the lead HEMTT and saluted. "Aye aye, Sir. Two HEMTTs to transport a pair of ship girls down to Naval Base Ventura County, Sir." She replied coolly.

While this was going on the girls in Task Force Slayer were continuing to skate forward at 28 knots, with all but Cordelia easily attaining that speed while Queen C was having to puff a bit to maintain it.

"Alright, got them on radar… American Radar Master Race for the win." Buffy chuckled, still liking that phrase she'd been told by Nike. "Looks like we'll catch them as they deploy into bombardment formation, shifting plans, close to 25k and fire for effect, Cordy, you and me on the big ones still, rest of you, raise hell."

The Abyssals were in fact deploying into a line formation, led by the battlewagons with the cruiser types following behind. The dreadnoughts looked like surfaced metal whales with black iron plating, jagged and torn and looking as if the plates had been forged in the fires of hell. Twisted gun houses of similar jagged iron housed pairs of sullen looking cannon, snouting out from between fanged openings in the turrets. There were no masts, no real superstructure, just a swelling in the center that seemed to house eyes, far too many eyes.

The cruisers were no better, much smaller and looking like half-surfaced sharks rearing out of the waves with glowing green eyes and cannon sprouting from their gaping maws. A faint purplish light weaved through all of them, appearing almost like a web of energy containing their dreadful forms.

None of the twelve Abyssals appeared to even notice the approaching ship girls, appearing to be completely intent on their mission to bombard Los Angeles. They'd already swept the local seas of all the conventional ships, after all, albeit with what would have been crippling losses for any other foe. There were always more Abyssals.

At 26k yards Buffy altered course as her own formation shook out a bit shakily behind her. Tapping her ear, she sent one command back to Tarawa. "Initiate strike… now." As she trained her guns over and calculated her opening shots.

Above her squadrons of Corsairs rolled in to shallow dives, aiming their rockets, and firing them in clouds of smoke and fire. Dozens of Tiny Tim and four times as many Holy Moses rockets blasted towards the Abyssals, wreathing them in blasts. None of the enemy vessels were significantly damaged by the strike, the warheads were excellent against lightly armored targets but not these heavily armored monstrosities, but damage was still done.

Task Force Slayer slewed into hard turns and Buffy spoke a single word.

"Fire."

A storm of shells erupted, the three Des Moines-class cruisers already going to rapid fire drill seemingly in competition with each other to fire the fastest; while Hawaii was more deliberate in placing her heavier shots. Varicolored splashes erupted around the now disordered Abyssas but there were no hits, yet.

Meanwhile, Buffy and Cordelia almost immediately had the range. A single volley of a dozen 16" shells slammed into the lead dreadnought from Louisiana, Queen C enthusiastically cheating by using her seer abilities to predict precisely where the enemy would turn and making sure her shells landed exactly there. By the time the smoke cleared there was only a few bits of dissolving debris to indicate there ever was an Abyssal present.

Buffy, while not as surgically precise as Cordelia, nonetheless had a Slayers instincts for combat. She actually split her fire amongst the remaining three dreadnoughts, her two front turrets on one, her rear turrets each targeting another. She didn't manage the perfect sniper shot of her sister ship, but massive shells gouged and tore into the hellish monsters, sending secondary explosions of blue lightning erupting around them but not obliterating any of them, yet.

One of the Abyssal cruisers was down, three 12" shells from Hawaii sufficing to kill it, while the three Des Moines had still not managed a single hit despite the blizzard of ordnance they were putting in the air. The ship girls were out of range of the Abyssals return fire still, but that would change as the range dropped.

"Damnit, Wills, Jenny, Amy, rate of fire doesn't mean a damn thing if you aren't aiming!" Buffy yelled as she reloaded, her slayer enhanced fairies combining with her own slayer essence to cut down the reload to a fraction of the normal time. She unleashed another full volley, again spreading her fire, before Cordelia completed the reload cycle.

Her shots were more on target, nine of the twelve shots from Montana struck home sending the final three dreadnoughts to a watery grave as super-heavy shells did super-heavy things to Abyssal iron, tearing the last of the big monsters apart in actinic blasts of blueish energy.

Cordelia finally finished her reload and Louisiana spoke again, this time aiming at the cruisers. She joined her sister ship in splitting her fire, but again her seer prowess enabled uncanny accuracy. It was impossible for most beings to dodge a seer's fire, because they knew where you were going to dodge before you even realized you needed to. Four Abyssal cruisers were blasted apart.

Dawn meanwhile managed to nail a second kill, her 12" shells not as accurate as Queen C, her rate of fire not as enhanced as Buffy, but she was still aiming rather than blazing away. She only shot at a single target at a time, and her shells fell around a frantically zig zagging cruiser. Most missed, but a single shot landed home right in the center of the Abyssal, smashing inside and detonating in its guts blasting it apart in yet another actinic storm.

The three Des Moines looked a bit embarrassed having been yelled at, and slowed their rate of fire a bit, allowing them to actually aim rather than hose down areas where the Abyssal cruisers used to be. Now that they were aiming, their next broadsides netted the final pair of enemies, sending the last of the cruisers down.

The seas were clear, with no contacts on radar apart from the friendly P-8 and Tarawa's planes returning to the bird farm. "Alright, form up, we're heading to beautiful scenic Oxnard." Buffy made one more visual and radar sweep, then turned and led the Sunnydale Squadron towards the naval base. "And I am looking forward to the debrief." She glared over at Willow and the other Des Moines. "Really looking forward to it. And to a cheeseburger."


	5. Chapter 5

_**AN – Nope, nothing has changed, I still own nothing at all. See the disclaimers in previous chapters. Many heartfelt thanks to all who have been kind enough to comment on and review this story, it is greatly appreciated. All criticism is welcome, positive, negative, silly, you name it.**_

 **Chapter 04**

 _Location – United States Fleet Activities Yokosuka_

They'd stopped even trying to summon ship girls here several days ago, instead transferring the resources to the Japanese to assist in their successful summoning program. The pool was still there, the facilities were all shiny and ready, but were being left derelict for now.

Over at the Japanese base, they'd gathered for what was intended to be the largest mass summoning yet, using the donated resources to try and get a much needed shot in the arm to the Japanese program which, while very successful, was still only holding its own against the Abyssals and protecting the coasts, not being able to truly secure the trade routes that were critical to the survival of the island nation.

They began the ceremony quite confident, with Admiral Goto's secretary ship, Nagato, present as his representative while he dealt with coordinating escort missions for the fishing fleet. The stacks of ore, the barrels of oil, the lit candles and banners, the pounding drums. All was as normal.

But something odd happened. The stacks vanished into nothingness, but there were no bubbles, no activity at all in the pool. There was complete shock, the chanting monks went silent, and eyes were wide as saucers.

"Nanda ittai…" breathed the officer leading the ceremony, a full Captain in the JMSDF resplendent in full dress uniform. He had been expecting to welcome new ship girls, not a failure even more dramatic than the Americans, after all they'd not even lost resources on their failures. He glanced over at the guests from the American base, confusion writ large in his eyes, and was met with equally confused looks in return.

Silence. Peace. Contentment. It was timeless. It was ageless. They had served well. Fought hard. Harder than any. They had earned their peace.

 **GENERAL QUARTERS!**

Heaven was a place of perfection and these warriors had earned their rest. But they were still warrior souls despite having never been biologically alive.

 **GENERAL QUARTERS!**

Some of them had been here since falling in battle; smashed, burning, bleeding. Others after the peaceful rest of scrapping and a natural death for their kind. Still others had fallen in weapons tests so that their future near-siblings would be stronger than they were. Yet they had all found the peace that they, warships built in the heat of war, had yearned for from the moment their keels had kissed the water.

 **ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS**

But that peace had been broken. They were needed once more and they had risen to meet the call, only to find themselves blocked. Their awareness was ephemeral, while others had been summoned they'd only heard the call yet were unable to respond. Frustration was not something that belonged in heaven, yet for them it had become a constant drumbeat.

 **THE FLOW OF TRAFFIC IS UP AND FORWARD ON THE STARBOARD SIDE**

So they had gathered together, these warriors, waiting for their chance to answer the call. They knew, deep in their non-existent bones, that they were desperately needed. Then they sensed a pulse of energy, a blazing beacon piercing through the afterworld.

 **DOWN AND AFT ON THE PORT**

All of these particular souls had been meant to escort, to assist, to be in the second line. And so they'd been, until the enemy came for them and the first line was nowhere to be seen. Then they had stepped up. They weren't second line any longer.

 **SET MATERIAL CONDITION ZEBRA**

They now could hear the drums, a bit distorted as if farther away than usual. They could hear chanting in an unfamiliar language rather than English. But it was a call regardless and they were determined to answer the call now that they could. For a fraction of a second measurable only on the quantum scale they ceased to exist as they were reborn, reshaped, remade.

 **THIS IS NOT A DRILL**

Thirteen girls stood on the now calm waters of the summoning pool. The American summoning pool. They weren't all the same size, there were six that looked like they'd just started high school, three that looked like they belonged in junior high, and four that looked like fifth or sixth graders at most. But they were all dressed nearly the same.

Ragged cut off old-style dungarees with threads hanging everywhere, the fabric brutally cut right above the knee. Ribbed mechanics style t-shirts that were nonetheless scrupulously clean, black leather belts with battered steel American Eagle belt buckles and looped chains hanging from them held up their pants. They all had black leather motorcycle jackets with tarnished studs on all the seams on, with American flag patches on the shoulders and brightly colored patches up and down the arms, and all but one were wearing crushed down baseball caps. They all had on mirror reflective shades, and the one without the ball cap was wearing what looked to have started life as an admirals cover, but had been sat on and run through the wash a few times, and worn at a cocky angle.

The six older girls had small flight decks attached to their upper left arms, and slingshots were tucked into their belts with one of them also having a comically oversized for her frame magnum revolver tucked alongside. The younger girls were all carrying what looked like miniature 5"38 single turrets in their right hands while torpedo tubes were strapped to their thighs.

And on the backs of their jackets, where any proper biker gang would put their logo, was a single word. Taffy.

The building was empty. The lights were out. But that didn't slow the girls down one bit. They strode out of the pool like a conquering army striding ashore using their radars to navigate in the darkness. The doors to the summoning chamber were locked, and even that didn't slow them down as they simply kicked them open without breaking stride or even bothering to try the handles. The lights were on in the hallway but there still was nobody present, thus the group didn't hesitate at all as they stalked through the halls with purpose. The locked doors leading outside met the same fate as the ones in the summoning chamber.

None of them said a word. None of them had to say a word. The six escort carriers lifted their slingshots and fired causing squadrons of Wildcats to appear as they set up a CAP purely on instinct. The three destroyers led the way in a wedge, while the carriers formed up in two lines of three and two of the destroyer escorts flanked each line. It was dark outside, but none of them bothered to take off their sunglasses. They were on shore, none of them bothered to dismiss their rigging.

While there was absolutely no activity around this building, next door was the main summoning facility used by the JMSDF and there was plenty of activity there. It was only a matter of moments before the girls were noticed as they marched, or more accurately swaggered, towards the milling sailors and marines. With their rigging still deployed, there was absolutely no mistaking them for anything else, and a wave of consternation spread through the crowd leaving the supposedly 'failed' summoning.

"I guess we should use your resources for the summoning more often, Sir, if that will get us American reinforcements." The Japanese officer commented with a somewhat wry twist to his lips. "I'm not sure I recognize them, destroyers and small carriers? I guess we have some convoy escorts."

The admiral, meanwhile, shook his head. "If they are who I think they are…" he looked over towards where Nagato was practically quivering and nodded. "They aren't exactly convoy escorts." He gestured towards the battleship girl, who looked torn between running away, massive disapproval, and a quivering eagerness to hug the cuteness that was approaching.

Spotting the unmistakable uniform of a US Navy admiral, who had been attending the attempted summoning as a guest, the girls drew themselves up into slouching approximations of what could vaguely, if you squinted really really hard and the light was awful, be considered attention.

One of the carriers, the one in the lead of the right column wearing the crushed admiral's hat, tossed back a sloppy, almost negligent and arrogant, salute. "USS Fanshaw Bay, CVE-70, and Taffy-3" she began, then consulted a small notecard she'd been handed by one of the destroyer girls and began reading from it a bit hesitantly. "Reporting ready to kick some fucking ass and chew some fucking bubblegum." At that all of the Taffies immediately and simultaneously popped a stick of chewing gum into their mouths. "And that was the last of our fucking bubblegum." And she put the card away as she chewed her gum and all the girls struck what they clearly thought were suitably badass poses, although the actual result was more along the lines of 'cute little girls cosplaying a hardcore biker gang'.

Admiral Michel Arnoult-Sauvé-Waggaman, generally known as Admiral Anti-Sub amongst his friends and colleagues, Old Three-Names amongst those who didn't like him, and generally went with just the first of his massively hyphenated surnames professionally; was resisting the urge to smirk at the reactions of the Japanese officers around him at that declaration. The old Cajun seadog stepped forward, hands clasped lightly behind his back, before returning the salute nearly as casually as it was offered. He did blink, however, when he noted that on each of the girls' jackets they had a ship patch, complete with designations, and while the CVE's simply crossed out the letter E, the destroyers and destroyer escorts had crossed out their prefixes and overwritten them with BB in bright sparkly pink glitter ink.

He shook his head, bemused. "You can dismiss your rigging, ladies." He said. "Most of you survived the war so you know we are now allies with Japan."

The lead destroyer… errrr battleship. "But… you know those Japanese battleships, they can sneak up on you at any time!"

Michel was about to reply to that when suddenly a wild Kongo appeared, dropping down right into the middle of the formation of Taffies.

"SOME NEW PEOPLE DESS! KONGO! WELCOMES! YOU!" she proudly declaimed as the smaller girls scattered slightly to surround her.

"GET HER!" One of the destroyers yelled. He wasn't sure, but thought it was Johnston.

He almost panicked, this could be a disaster. "BE…." He broke off, as the girls' rigging vanished and all 13 girls of Taffy 3 swarmed Kongo in what looked like the prelude to a rather impressive tickle pile.

One destroyer head popped up briefly "Told you so." Then vanished back into the pile, punctuated by shrieking giggles and yells of 'dess' and 'Burning Love will prevail!'.

He was still shaking his head as the Japanese captain stepped up next to him. "Welcome to the club of those in command of kanmasu, Admiral." The younger man said a bit drolly. "Admiral Goto is considering forming support groups with regular meetings off base."

Michel sighed and nodded, rocking back on his heels for the moment. "Well, tell him that I do believe I'll join him for that." He winced as the rest of the Kongo sisters appeared and promptly were dragged into the grand tickling melee. "Definitely will join him for that."

 _Location – Offshore near Oxnard_

Buffy and the other Sunnydale Ship Girls rendezvoused just off shore from Naval Base Ventura County. She took a few moments to look over the others, then sighed in relief as it was obvious everybody was looking fine.

"OK, we made some mistakes but we won which is the important part. Remember the first rule of Slaying, Don't Die.. In the future it might not be as easy, those looked like they were based on World War One era ships so they were dead easy for us with our range and fire control advantages. We'll have to work on this together but we totally did good." She said finally, bobbing up and down a bit in the waves. "I'm told Spike, Dru, and mom are all going to meet us on shore and that the Navy has already been building suitable facilities for ship girls like us." She took a deep breath. "When we get ashore, no using your real names, OK? I know I suck at being Secret Identity Girl but it's important, I'm Montana, Cordy is Louisiana, etc."

She got murmured assent from the assembled girls, then smiled. "And just think, this way we can flirt with cute guys without them knowing who we really are, totally a win." She firmly repressed the depression that came with any mention of guys, since she'd not seen Angel ever since he'd been… her eyes widened as she realized something, Angel had been sent to L.A. by the same Powers who were behind the Abyssals.

 _Note to self, check on Angel and see what is really going on._ Buffy thought to herself, frowning now as unwelcome thoughts swirled through her. But she shook herself mentally and took a breath.

"Let Spike do as much of the talking as you can. I don't yet fully trust him so I'll be keeping my eye on him and Dru, but if our mental houseguests were on the level with us it should be OK." She continued, then made a 'form up' gesture. "Let's go and… good job out there, Tarawa, keep up a CAP until we hit the beach, rest of us, escort formation and let's practice zig zagging our way in, kay?"

The ex-Cordettes all nodded, along with Cordy, Willow, Amy, and Jenny. The group took off, skating over the waves at about twenty knots. Moments after they started moving, Shanice, AKA USS Fresno in the trailing position, suddenly yelped. "Torpedoes in the water, passed directly astern!"

"Shit." Buffy swore. "25 knots." She accelerated along with the others, throwing her helm into sweeping zig-zags while she tapped her ear. "This is Montana to Albatross" she'd finally gotten the callsign of the P-8. "Requesting urgent ASW support at our position, we are under submarine-type Abyssal attack. Repeat, requesting urgent ASW support at our position."

"Understood, Montana. Be advised that we can track them but cannot prosecute the contacts." Came over her comms.

"Gotcha, Albatross. Just warn us of any contacts and transients so we can evade." She took a deep breath and switched channels. "Montana to Spike, we're under submarine attack and taking evasive maneuvers. We are thirty minutes out."

"More torpedo wakes starboard, will pass aft." Called out Tarawa as her CAP spotted them.

Buffy nodded, frowning. "They were trying to pincer us while we were talking, go to 28 knots and continue fleet evasion." She ordered. "Hopefully the P-8 can give us launch warnings so we can evade better."

They sped up some more, all but Cordelia easily able to lope along at 28 knots while the other Montana-class battleship was having to go flat out. "You OK there, Queen C?" she teased, again spinning around to skate backwards on the waves and earning a fulminating glare from her fellow battleship.

She then spun back around. "Come starboard three points… now…" in response to a transient report she'd gotten. She mentally projected the tracks of the incoming torpedoes along the base course. "Keep this course for a few minutes."

The formation swung aside, and Buffy nodded absently. Unless there were any sub-Abyssals inshore of them they should be fine, as the location of the transients was too far astern to catch them up given the slow speeds of the submarines. She didn't lower her guard, however, keeping a keen ear on the reports from the P-8 and extending her own senses.

 _Location – Naval Base Ventura County_

They reached port about a half hour later, having dodged two additional torpedo attacks that the Abyssal submarines had launched at them. The navy had added a reinforced slipway as part of their ship girl summoning program, after all Naval Base Ventura County was ideally situated for covering LA.

Buffy was fresh as could be, the sortie having barely tapped into her slayer endurance, but most of the other girls looked shaken. When she saw the naval officers waiting for them she rolled her eyes, dismissed her rigging, and clapped her hands to get everybody's attention.

"Alright, I know you people want to debrief and everything, but food first, talk later." She put her hands on her hips and just glared. "Rule Number One, always feed your ship girls, or your ship girls get cranky. You won't like us when we're cranky." She paused. "And there better be Ben & Jerry's."

Spike was hard pressed not to laugh, Dru had so called it and the sailors had discounted his advice to meet the girls with food carts, now they got to deal with cranky slayers. "Right this way, luv. No Ben & Jerry's, but they've got soft serve and your mom is making hot chocolate with the little marshmallows." He grinned, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather duster. "And I bloody told you, mate." He smirked at the properly uniformed admiral standing next to him.

Admiral Joshua Falkenrick just sighed, his expression still a bit tight. "I see. Have them report to the briefing room immediately after they eat." He scowled then, as the ship girls all seemed to perk up and, with a combination of any ship girl's excellent sense of direction and all teenager's impeccable instinct for the location of food, stampeded off with absolutely no decorum or military discipline. "They never even…"

"They're bloody ships, not sailors." Spike pulled his hands out of his duster just long enough to light up a cigarette. "They've got the discipline where it counts, and when the chips are bloody down they'll show you. But expecting them to become bloody tin sailor girls and fit into your sodding perceptions of what they should be is never going to work." He took a long drag, then deliberately blew the smoke into a ring and turned to saunter off after them. "I'll handle the bloody debrief, you just go be a good little tin sailor and summon me up some destroyer girls to escort my girls."

Admiral Falkenrick drew himself up, but before he could let loose with a blistering reprimand his aide cleared her throat. "Sir, you're needed in the summoning chamber, they are ready to begin."

He instead sighed again and nodded. "Very well." With one last fulminating look at the departing Spike he turned on his heel and marched to the building housing the summoning pool.

Back in the mess hall, chaos had descended and the cooks were too busy to be more than mildly flabbergasted. Trays of food that would serve a dozen sailors were devoured in moments by what looked like teenage girls. Three of them seemed to be having a competition over who could eat the most ice cream in the least amount of time, and the head cook could only be grateful for the warning he'd been given to prepare enough food to 'feed a regiment of hungry Marines.'

One corner of the kitchens had been taken over by an older looking ship girl who was creating cups of hot chocolate that seemed to vanish within seconds of being set down on the counter. They'd already had to put in an emergency order for 'little marshmallows' to all the local stores as evidently said marshmallows were in incredibly high demand.

The noise level was enough to raise the possibility of needing ear protection. The poor abused soft serve machine had already needed refilling and the sailor assigned had had to endure puppy dog eyes and pleading entreaties to hurry up. About the only thing positive about the whole thing was that none of the cooks or helpers had ever seen teenagers eating everything on their plates the way these girls were.

And the girls had only been in the building for five minutes.

The doors to the mess hall banged open and Spike strode in, still puffing on his cigarette and ignoring the glares from the cooks and mess personnel. "Alright, once you've all finished stuffing your bleeding faces gather round, we'll make this quick so you girls can hit the rack."

Buffy and Cordelia both gave him a thumbs up from the middle of their ice cream devouring contest, while the others all paused in their mass consumption to acknowledge him in various ways ranging from grunts to mumbled 'Yeahs'.

The head cook only had two minor heart attacks at the state of his supply room by the time the girls pronounced themselves done, then recovered immediately as the girls proceeded to give him and his staff grateful hugs on their way over to where Spike was holding court, which was a completely new experience for them.

"Alright, Admiral Tin Britches gave me the briefing based on the tracking data, and Montana's already clued me in on what happened." Spike said without preamble, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "Get it out of the way, you girls did good. First combat sortie and you sunk 'em all and took no damage in return. Montana, you did good out there in field command but once you knew the bird farm had no strike birds you should have kept her closer in, you divided too much and that could have bit you in that cute ass of yours. Des Moines, you need to keep you and your sisters from wasting so much ammo for no result, firing eight salvoes before you registered a hit is no good." He took another drag on his smoke. "Hawaii, good job not succumbing to the bloody Rambo sisters and their dakka fascination. Tarawa, you did good keeping up that CAP and bloody good work spotting those torps, Fresno."

He paused as the girls looked at each other. "This was your first time fighting, none of you had any experience to fall back on, none of you had ever done anything like this before, and all of you did better than anybody could have bloody well have expected. We'll start training together in the morning, already requisitioned some targets and you girls will have a grand old time blowing the ever loving crap out of them."

Buffy started to say something but Spike shook his head. "Yes, I already know about the torpedo attack, hopefully we'll get some destroyer girls to escort you before you deploy again."

Buffy nodded. "That wasn't what I was going to ask." She grinned a bit. "I'm thinking we should keep Tarawa with an all fighter loadout, we don't know when the Abyssals will start using carriers of their own but a single carrier's strike group won't be potent enough to penetrate any sort of focused defense."

Spike laughed and nodded, then took another drag. "Ahhh, yes. Tarawa, you willing to keep the all fighter rig?"

Tarawa nodded, glancing over at Buffy. "Means I won't have much strike ability outside of rockets, but I can if Montana thinks I should. But what about some TBM-3W's?"

"If you can figure out a way to get some of them, maybe." Spike said after Buffy nodded. "We're still not sure how you girls can modify your plane load outs." He held up his hand before the assembled girls could start discussing that. "Later, work that out tomorrow. Go hit your racks, Admiral Brass Pants wants you for a formal debrief tonight, but I'll just tell him I handled it. Not like I need much bloody sleep anyways."

There was general laughter at that, then Spike continued. "I've got some non-com type ladies outside waiting to show you girls to your racks, told 'em you'd all prefer to stick together so work it out amongst yourselves if that's what you want. Since you all did just fight I'll generously let you sleep in tomorrow until, oh, 0900." He smirked at the protests. "Kidding, meet back here at noon, I'll make sure the cooks have recovered from that food binge by then and are ready for more. No idea where you bloody put it all but…" he shrugged. "Now get, before I sic Joyce on you to use her bloody magical Mom powers. Lights out in twenty."

The girls trailed out, albeit with a glance or two towards Joyce before leaving. As they left, Admiral Falkenrick came in leading seven new girls, none of them looking older than, maybe, freshmen in high school with most of them looking like they'd wandered out of junior high. Spike was about to comment when the proper Admiral held up one hand and turned to the girls. "There should be enough left for you, I called ahead and the cooks were cooking up another batch. Dig in, full briefing in the morning. Admiral Pratt, I would like to speak with you in my office. Lieutenant, you're in charge of the girls until we get their ranks sorted out."

Spike lifted one eyebrow as the girls filed past, none of them looking all that awake at the moment. The two oldest were both nearly completely identical twins and by far the most tentative, appearing to be extremely shy and not meeting anybody's gaze. The younger ones were a mixed bag. One was wearing a space suit, of all things, with a couple Gemini mission patches on it, another was wearing a lab coat and looked like she was about to start tinkering at any moment. The other three were somewhat less remarkable looking compared to that pair, but still stood out enough with one wearing a gunslinger's belt that was far too low on her hips and which she had to keep on hiking up, another looked like a kid actress auditioning for a role as a teacher while the third had a crooked nose that had obviously been broken at some point and kept on running into things despite not looking at all clumsy.

"Let me guess, CVEs and DDs?" Spike inquired as he accompanied Falkenrick out of the mess, tossing his cig negligently onto the walkway and grinding it out without breaking stride.

Falkenrick nodded. "Indeed, the CVEs are Rabaul and Tinian, while the DDs are Henley, Porter, Witek, Bristol and McCaffery." He glanced down at the shorter, slimmer man. "I take it you sent your girls to bed?"

"Bloody damn right I did, mate." Spike replied, hands again digging into the pockets of his beloved duster. "Hopefully there won't be any nightmares after their first action but we'll see. And I'm calling dibs on them, after tonight I won't send mine out again without some ASW support."


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N – See the first chapter for the full list of disclaimers, don't own a thing so I'm still just a poor fanfic writer and not a rich and successful author.**_

 _ **Reviews and recommendations are the bread and butter for me, I love them all even if they are critical. I'd like to thank everybody who has been so kind as to read, comment on, like, follow, or recommend this story!**_

 _ **I apologize for the delay this week in the story, had a very unfriendly week starting with my truck dying on me and ending with me having to shell out far too much money to buy a new vehicle. Writing time has been unfortunately limited.**_

 **Chapter 05**

 _Location – Washington Naval Yard_

It took between six and eight hours on average to turn around a summoning chamber from one attempt to the next. New supplies had to be brought in and stacked in the prescribed locations, replacement candles had to be set out, and the clouds of stale incense had to be ventilated to clear the air. Every so often a longer gap would be required in order to scrub down the summoning pool to ensure the water was nice and clean.

Ever since the breakthrough had occurred with the first known officially successful summoning in Hawaii every US naval facility around the world had been conducting ceremonies as quickly as the summoning chambers could be turned around. The Washington Naval Yard was no exception and, as it was also the navy's formal headquarters, those ceremonies tended to be attended by not only naval officers but also politicians and the media. It also boasted one of the most efficient turn arounds amongst all the chambers as the entire rear wall was actually a giant loading dock with hangar-style doors closing it off during the ceremonies themselves. As a consequence, they could turn around a ceremony every four hours.

The last summoning attempt here had netted a quartet of Brooklyn-class cruisers and a dozen destroyers mixed between Bensons and Fletchers. The very first attempt, a mere thirty minutes after the report from Pearl Harbor had galvanized the fleet, had yielded both of the North Carolina class battleships along with the Northampton-class cruisers Chicago and Houston. The twenty girls who'd already been summoned were mostly asleep in the spacious barracks set aside for them and now the crowds were gathered for another ceremony.

Unlike the other summoning pools, this one had a dedicated observation room for VIPs to observe, and like the last summoning it was packed to the rafters with politicians eager to see the results. Clouds of incense obscured the water in a filmy gauze, while massive drums pounded out a brutally martial rhythm and sailors chanted in hastily memorized Latin since it had been found that that worked just as well as Japanese and was easier for westerners to pronounce. Then it fell silent, and the pool erupted in a storm of bubbles that filled the entire chamber.

When the eruption cleared there were only three girls standing there in a triangular formation. The faint sense of disappointment faded almost before it could form. This may have been the smallest numerical summoning here at the Washington Naval Yard, but the onlookers realized just who they had summoned.

In the front was a somewhat older looking yet short and elegant ship girl. Out of all the ones summoned so far she looked the most old fashioned, wearing a modest country dress that would have been suitable for the set of Little House on the Prairie. She was cradling an old Henry rifle on one arm and had what looked for all the world like an old washboard marked up as a flight deck attached to the other.

Behind her were a pair of twins who towered over her yet seemed in some indescribable way to be subordinate to her. They were tall and strong and nearly absolutely identical. The only real way to tell them apart was that the one on the left had a red tropical flower tucked behind her ear while the one on the right had a blue one tucked in the same place. Each of them had a Springfield '03 tucked under one arm and a long flight deck attached to the other. Each had a substantial island and funnel structure as a backpack, with the one on the right having a broad black stripe painted down the center of her funnel.

The lead figure skated forward slightly then stiffened to attention before proffering a textbook perfect rifle salute. "Sir, USS Langley reporting for duty accompanied by USS Lexington and USS Saratoga." She said in a soft yet oddly compelling and commanding voice. She paused, then a slight quirk on her lips. "And if she'll come down from where the dear girl is hiding in the rafters, USS Los Angeles."

The observers all startled and looked up, to find a fourth girl was floating in midair up amongst the ceiling lights. She was wearing a blue and black dirndl of all things, albeit with a scarf that looked like an American flag around her neck and a pair of excessively large binoculars in a case on her belt. On her back was a massive cylindrical gas bag that held her up and she looked exceptionally sheepish as she drifted downwards to hover right over Saratoga. "Guten Morgan" she said in a soft voice, betraying her German origins as a product of Luftshiffbau Zeppelin. "Errr… good morning. USS Los Angeles, ZR-3 reporting in, ja?" She blushed slightly, the English spoken in a definitely mixed German and Californian accent. For all that she appeared to be the same age as the fleet carrier twins she was positively tiny, a perfect representation of proportional dwarfism in action.

Saratoga smiled faintly and lifted her left arm so that the zeppelin girl could take hold of the edge of her flight deck. Moments later she huffed as Los Angeles dismissed her rigging and wound up cradled against the much larger fleet carriers hip. Then the three carriers slid across the pools surface and up the ramp, dismissing their rigging as they did so. Saratoga immediately set the zeppelin girl down and aimed a slight smirk at her twin sister before schooling her expression back into professional calm. Lexington, on the other hand, rolled her eyes very slightly before she too returned to the placid professional demeanor they'd been showing.

The Lieutenant standing at the top of the ramp returned the salute and held it before snapping his arm down. "Ma'am, we've prepared quarters for all of you and the mess hall is open, if you would accompany me?"

Langley smiled gently, but her eyes were solid. "No need for either, Lieutenant. I'd like to get the girls into the water and practicing right away. Hopefully we'll be able to get them upgraded to more capable birds quickly since I do not relish sending them out with SBUs, T4Ms and F2Fs in their air groups." She paused and her smile broadened. "They can eat after a few hours of practice."

Behind her the two fleet carriers were actually pouting, and it is a terrible thing to see fleet carriers pouting. But neither raised any objections to Langley's pronouncement. Los Angeles, on the other hand, giggled and smirked as she ostentatiously patted her belly and silently mock yawned.

Langley didn't even turn around. "And, of course, we need to start working with Los Angeles to integrate zeppelin operations into the mix, best to start as we intend to continue." Her voice never changed but her eyes twinkled just a little bit.

The zeppelin girl's face immediately fell, but like the two much larger fleet carriers she raised no actual fuss about it beyond a slight sigh and a crestfallen expression.

The Lieutenant looked over his shoulder helplessly and started to open his mouth when Langley interrupted, lifting one finger chidingly. "Young man, you do not think that I will be able to stand in the line at my age, do you? My plane capacity is far too limited and I am much too old and slow to be effective. I will instead spend my time ensuring that my daughters are at their best." She glanced over to where an Admiral was standing and nodded respectfully to him. "And that they are treated properly. Am I clear, young man?"

The lieutenant paled slightly, swallowed, and resisted the urge to salute again. "Ma'am, yes ma'am." He nervously said instead.

Langley just smiled and patted the young lieutenant on the cheek in a quite motherly fashion. "Very good, young man. Be a dear and round up the other girls, no doubt lazing about in bed when there's practice to be done. Come along, ladies."

 _Location – Ventura County Naval Base_

Buffy groaned a bit as she swum back to consciousness in an unfamiliar bed with an unfamiliar ceiling overhead. It took the slayer a few moments on the edge between sleep and wakefulness to remember where she was and she groaned again, forcing herself to actually wake up and swing out of bed rather than burrow under the sheets for some more shuteye. She then found herself blinking and a slow smile crossed her face as her faeries reported in about what had happened in her vicinity while she was sleeping.

The room she was in was a double, and across from her was Cordelia still snoring away as she'd obviously slept through her alarm. Buffy started giggling as she watched Cordy's faeries trying to wake the slumbering battleship up through increasingly bizarre means and nearly fell back onto her bed and started laughing uproariously at the sight of a team of faeries cooperating to maneuver a large glass of ice water into position via an improvised crane consisting of a pyramid of faeries, a ruler, and lots of ropes.

The water splashed, the tower collapsed, faeries were sprawled everywhere… and Cordelia was still snoring, only having shifted irritably in her sleep at the attempt. Buffy at this point completely lost it.

An evil grin graced Buffy's face as she had an idea and winked at the exasperated faeries. "I've got this." She said, winking again, then leaned in close to Cordy's ear.

"WILLOW WAS VOTED HOMECOMING QUEEN!" she suddenly shouted, causing the former cheerleader to surge upright looking absolutely horrified, which only caused the swiftly dodging slayer to laugh harder. Moments later she was dodging a pillow thrown by an irate fellow battleship girl but even that couldn't stop her mirth.

"Jeesh, Cordy, you sleep like a log. Reveille and all that jazz." Buffy picked herself up, still chuckling, and headed towards the en-suite bathroom that the battleship girls were privileged with as their quarters had been converted from BOQs.

"Some of us don't have slayer metabolism, slay girl." Cordy grumbled as she dragged herself out of her own bed. "And if you use up all the hot water…"

"You'll what, snore louder at me?" Buffy replied from the bathroom. "Don't worry about it, going to rinse off then head down to soak a bit at the docks. You'll want to do the same thing, the docks should wake you up better than a mere shower."

Cordy's grumbles could still be heard, even over the shower. Buffy grinned, luxuriated under the shower for a few more moments, then shut it off and stepped out. Wrapping a towel around herself, she left the bathroom and gestured for Cordy to go in before she paused and glared at the swimsuit that was in her closet.

"SPIKE!"

A few minutes later a still visibly fuming Buffy and a yawning Cordelia made their way to the pool that had been converted into a dock for the ship girls, both wearing matching American flag string micro thong bikinis that seemed more designed to cater to male eyes than anything else.

As soon as they reached the docks they ran into Joyce. Now, Joyce is a very nice woman in many ways, and very kind and understanding. But seeing her daughter wearing three postage stamps and some dental floss was just a bit infuriating.

"Where did you get those… those…" she glared at the two girls, who shifted a bit on their feet before Buffy planted her hands on her hips and glared back.

"Spike told us he'd left swimsuits in our rooms. He left these." Buffy grated. "Not that we don't look wonderful in them, but still. I'd rather wear these than skinny dip in the docks."

For the second time that morning a bellowed "SPIKE!" rang out loud and proud. Momma Bear was angry.

That shout brought results, as Spike poked his head out of his office, then his jaw promptly dropped upon seeing Buffy and Cordelia. "Cor… why aren't you girls wearing the navy issue suits I had delivered?" He wasn't drooling, but Spike being Spike he was certainly smirking and leering a bit, which resulted in Joyce smacking him upside the head.

"These ARE the suits that were delivered!" Buffy screeched at him, glaring furiously.

"Bloody hell they aren't. The quartermaster wouldn't even stock suits like that." He was now looking annoyed as he was being blamed for things he had absolutely nothing to do with.

Right then the doors opened and Dawn skipped in accompanied by the Amy, Jenny, and Willow. All four wearing nice proper US navy standard issue female swimsuits. Seeing Buffy and Cordy the three Des Moines girls blushed furiously while Dawn just started giggling. Buffy, Cordelia, Spike, and Joyce all looked at each other, then simultaneously… "DAWN!"

An hour, a good soak in the docks, a decent breakfast, and one extremely grounded Dawn later, the Sunnydale girls gathered in the briefing room along with the recently summoned escort force that had been commandeered by Spike. They could hear another summoning in progress nearby but had mostly tuned that out. Most of the girls were quite nervous. Despite the action that the Sunnydale girls had been in most were still woefully inexperienced.

Spike positively sauntered in, still wearing his trademark duster and with a cigarette held between his formerly undead lips, with Joyce and Drusilla flanking him. He preempted even the slightest attempt at military courtesy with a shouted "Anybody stands up and salutes or bloody shit like that I'll have you scrubbing the bloody mess."

Buffy rolled her eyes, like she'd do something like that period for Spike of all people.

"Alright, we've got harbor boats marking out an assault course and weapons range for you girls. We're going to be spending today in heavy training, both individual runs and group runs. I want all of you girls to get comfortable working with everybody else. We've got three bird farms, one fleet and two escort. You escort girls will be working up full ASW loadouts, Tarawa will be sticking with a full air superiority loadout. Our main striking force will be the battleships and cruisers, we don't have enough carriers to form proper strike packages." He looked up from some notes he'd pulled out of his pockets, then smirked. "So hurrah for the big bloody guns. Montana, you are overall field command, Porter, you're the most experienced of the destroyers so you'll be provisionally in command of the escort, likewise Tarawa will be in command of the air groups. Any questions?"

Witek started raising her hand, and Spike just rolled his eyes. "Yes, Witek, we will get you a lab to do your bloody boffin things in but not until I'm satisfied that you are fully up to speed combat wise. So work your bloody arse off and you'll get to play with your test tubes faster. And no, McCaffery, we're not going on a bloody field trip to NASA anytime soon." Spike smirked, lifting an eyebrow at the other destroyer girls. Ares had told him you had to be firm with the destroyers from the start or else they'd unleash their powers of cuteness and you'd find yourself agreeing to just about anything to keep the little terrors from pouting.

Buffy grinned and raised her hand, then spoke before Spike could even react. "How long do we have the range for?" she asked, smirking a bit.

"All day, the new arrivals will be getting settled in and we're the first coherent and organized battle group present." Spike replied.

Buffy promptly stood up. "Alright girls, form up on me. Dru, I'd like you to practice acting as comms support." She didn't pause as she strode towards the door, the girls falling in behind her almost on instinct. Alpha predator leading the pack and all that.

She started giving instructions even as they headed to the harbor slipway. "OK, Porter, is it? You set the marksmanship mark for the destroyers and let me know when each of your girls reach it. Fargo, you do the same for the light cruisers and Des Moines will do it for the heavies. Hawaii, you'll be with Cordy and I." she gave her little sister a smile that would send great whites fleeing in terror. "And I'll be setting the mark for us. Tarawa, you work out with Rabaul and Tinian how you'll handle flight training, but be ready to start launching target planes for AA practice later. We'll keep up the individual practice until noon or everybody hits the standard their type leader sets. Eat lunch, then group and AA training."

They reached the harbor slipway which had been modified into a mounting station for their rigging. None of the girls paused, Buffy's determination was infectious and even the most nervous of them couldn't help responding. They each stepped onto the platform that they instinctively knew was meant for them to use.

The sound of gears grinding and chains clanking sounded out from the quay as mechanical arms deployed around the platforms, each holding one piece of the rigging. How they'd gotten there was a mystery to everybody and was already being ascribed to magical sparkly shipgirl bullshit. The platforms slid down the slipway into the water as the mechanical arms worked their magic, bolting on the rigging in a hiss of pneumatics and buzz of motors so that by the time the girls touched the water they were fully rigged. They set off without pause, skating out into the harbor towards where the training area had been set up.

"First pass stationary, second at speed. Go." Buffy commanded before she led Cordelia and Dawn to where the longest ranged targets were placed, the most distant of them well beyond the harbor breakwater. "Training munitions loaded."

She came to a halt and straightened her shoulders, standing as tall as the sadly still diminutive slayer could, and thrust out one arm. "Thirty five thousand yards, solution set… bracket firing."

All twelve of her massive 16"/50 rifles spoke as one, obedient to her will and aimed by a potent combination of American Radar Master Race bullshit and slayer instincts. Dyed water erupted around the target raft. An airborne observer would have noted, no doubt with great incredulity that all twelve shots landed within 50 meters of the target in a near perfect straddling bracket. Buffy just smirked and adjusted her aim slightly. "Firing for effect!"

Another bellow of smoke and flame as the twelve cannons blasted out the training rounds downrange. Seconds passed, then the target raft vanished from sight as the practice rounds pummeled it down. "Direct hit." She turned and grinned at Cordelia.

"Louisiana, you are up!" she gestured grandly down range.

Cordelia skated forward a bit then came to a halt, closing her eyes and steepling her fingers in front of her face. She sat there in silence for several moments, moving with the gentle swells of the water in the harbor, then without saying a word she opened her eyes, straightened up, and her right hand thrust forward with her fingers splayed wide.

Her main battery bellowed, twelve gouts of flame erupting in unison. Her gaze remained fixed downrange and when the shells hit she easily replicated Buffy's second shot, her entire broadside striking the target with lethal accuracy. Being a member of the American Radar Master Race is one thing, being a slayer is another thing, yet being a seer with slayer faeries? If she wishes to hit something, it is hit. She looked over to Buffy with a smirk, while the slayer simply applauded then turned a truly evil smirk on her little sister.

Dawn was pouting, 35000 yards was a hard shot for any of them, but the 16"/50's of the Montana's were capable of reaching out that far much more readily than her 12"/50 Mk 8's. "It was just a prank, not like I stole your swimsuits and made you go skinny dipping." The large cruiser ship girl pointed out, seeking some measure of mercy from her prank victims… and finding none. "Fine…"

She skated forward to the firing line, aiming one last appealing look at her sister, sighed dramatically, then concentrated so hard that beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. This shot was almost at the absolute maximum range of her guns and she was neither a full slayer nor a seer. She closed her eyes, letting her radars do the seeing for her, locking on to the target. She could almost feel the whirring of her electro-mechanical fire control computers calculating trajectories and forming a firing solution. She felt the gentle waves, opening her eyes and visually orienting herself. She gritted her teeth, then flung out her hand much like Cordelia had. "FIRE!"

Her nine barrels spat out flame and smoke, albeit in not nearly the sheer quantity as the much larger battleships had. Nine super-heavy 12" shells flew downrange. And missed. Widely. Dawn glared as Buffy and Cordelia both smirked at her.

"Try again, Hawaii." Buffy said, eyes dancing. "We'll be waiting here until you manage to hit the target."

Cordelia then pulled out two bottles of chilled lemonade, one of which she passed over to Buffy. "Take your time, we'll just be laughing at you as you miss. Go on, Miss Prankster, Junior Edition."

Dawn huffed then turned back to the target, glaring at it and dialing in corrections to her firing solution. She wasn't a slayer despite having slayer faeries, she certainly wasn't a seer. Her targeting radar continued to track the target and she compared the impact point recorded with the desired target and shifted her point of aim slightly. Again she flung out her arm and shouted "Fire!" in a loud voice.

Once more her nine rifles spoke. Again the shells rumbled down range. And again she missed although she was much closer than before. "This is totally unfair, it's SO outside my effective range." She grumped as the two battleship girls chortled at her failure. But she knew they didn't care, not after her little prank, and deep down knew that this was proper sisterly retribution for it.

A third volley arced out after Dawn dialed yet more corrections in, this time missing a bit long. She glared, took a deep breath, and tried again. This time she finally managed to straddle the target, causing her to pump her fist triumphantly as she made a number of minute adjustments. "Firing for effect!"

Another volley and another. She kept on firing downrange and finally, FINALLY, she hit the target squarely. She turned to glare at the chortling duo, who instead of looking suitably impressed were still smirking. "Now to do this while moving instead of staying still. Targets marked 1 are mine, those marked 2 are Louisiana's, and those marked with a big ole L for loser are Hawaii's." Buffy ignored Dawn's put upon expression with appropriate sisterly disdain. "Minimum speed for the run is 25 knots, we'll go simultaneously and range control will post our results. See those slaloms that the destroyer girls are using? We'll be using them as well, try not to run into any of them. Score will be based on number of hits on target multiplied by average speed through the course with penalties for hitting the wrong target and running down a destroyer or hitting one of the slalom poles."

Buffy grinned then, as she saw the destroyer girls rather hastily clearing the course. "Pity, would have added a degree of difficulty." She winked at Porter, who grinned a bit uncertainly back. "Alright, ladies. On three…" she paused, rolled her shoulders. "Three."

And immediately took off, turrets already slewing about and locking on the first of her targets while Cordelia and Dawn both muttered about dirty rotten cheating battleships. She only fired one turret, trusting in her Slayer instincts and her fire control to hit the target while she slalomed around the first of the poles. She was running at the Montana class's normal 28 knot top speed, not wanting to reveal her full abilities here. Her second target was much closer in and she had one of her 5"/54 twins deal with it as she did a classic powerslide around the next marker.

Behind her Cordelia and Dawn had also started their runs, their own weapons barking out as they went. Cordy limited herself to 25 knots but was making up for it with laser perfect accuracy thanks to her seer powers, while Dawn was not nearly as accurate but was blazing along at 32 knots. She quickly overtook Buffy, giving her sister a raspberry as she passed, but Buffy kept her speed down and simply focused on keeping her turn's crisp and precise while maintaining nearly as high an accuracy as Cordelia.

The destroyer girls were gaping at the demonstration. Sure, battleships were far more powerful than they were and every destroyer girl secretly envied them, but to see battleships (and a large cruiser) racing through a course optimized for them at speeds almost as high as they were capable of and pulling turns just as tight as they could while their main and secondary batteries blasted targets almost faster than they could pop up. That, that was awe inspiring to them.

Bristol leaned in to whisper to Henley "How are they even doing that?" in a somewhat shaken voice. Battleships were the slow, ponderous, elegant ships in her mind, not what she was seeing here.

Henley shrugged. "I don't know… but… how the… she hit two targets at the same time!"

Behind them Willow chuckled, the set a hand on each of the smaller girls' shoulders. "Multiple fire control stations, one in the main tower and one in the aft superstructure. Add in twin balanced rudders placed optimally in the water flow for the maneuverability and you've got them. At a given speed, Montana and Louisiana can turn inside of Porter and match you turn for turn because of that. Throw in that they've got later model fire control radars to the sets you were summoned with, and you have the complete package." She then leaned down to their level. "But, I happen to know that Montana is the nicer of the two, and Louisiana is very ticklish behind her knees." She winked and straightened up.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N – Still don't own anything, see the disclaimer in the first chapter.**_

 _ **I apologize for the lateness again, I am a poll worker where I live so all day election day was spent working the election, Wednesday recovering from a twenty hour day and I'm still not at 100%, so I lost a great deal of writing time. Add to that my birthday was on November 11**_ _ **th**_ _ **and, well, I was way behind the 8-ball. Then the worst happened, my muse went silent for this chapter only. I know where I want to go, and have more written for future chapters and even have this one fully outlined, but actually writing this chapter kicked my proverbial backside. But it's done now, hopefully it's good and people like it! Again, I apologize for the delay!**_

 _ **Comments, criticisms and such are always welcome. I don't consider myself that great of a writer but I want to improve, and the best way to improve is to get critical feedback. Thank you to all those who have done so, it is greatly appreciated.**_

 **Chapter 06**

 _Location – Charleston Navy Yard_

The wreckage had finally been cleared away from the old dry dock and wharf. Beneath the water could still be seen the burned out timbers of an American icon. Old Ironsides had met her fate to fire, while beside her the burned out hulk of Cassin Young still steamed as small fires continued to burn deep within the ruined hull. The entire waterfront was desolate and shattered, burned out buildings and the smell of death and ruin. The Abyssal bombardments that Boston had suffered had caused enormous damage and loss of life.

But Bostonians were a tough and stubborn breed. Crews moved through the wreckage, salvaging what they could and marking structures too badly damaged for repair for eventual replacement. Out in the harbor a pitiful few naval vessels sat, many damaged, but luckily Boston was close enough to a few of the new ship girl bases that they'd not suffered a raid since the summoning's started to work.

Alex Martinez and his crew of construction workers and firefighters had been busy for days clearing out structures around the naval yard turned national park. No building was intact, either savaged by shells or burned out by the fires that had raged through the area. They still had to survey the damage and they'd gotten rather skilled at the task.

"You hear that?" Alex paused, listening hard as they clambered amongst the ruins of the old ropewalk building.

The crew looked around, frowns appearing on soot-stained faces. A soft groaning noise could be heard, seemingly coming from within the rubble that had once been the last operational military ropewalk in the United States. Alex gestured and the crew carefully picked their way through the wreckage, dodging around twisted metal plates from the roof that had collapsed when the thick wooden walls had burned.

The sound seemed to be coming from a particularly large pile of debris and the crew stopped short.

"What do you think it is, boss?" one of the construction workers asked, shifting a bit nervously.

"Not sure, doesn't sound…" Alex cut off as the debris shifted, multi-ton slabs of charred wood and copper roofing being pushed aside.

Another groan, and the figure stood up, creaking noises coming from the unmistakably female form as she stretched to her full height. She could easily be mistaken for either a young woman or an ancient lady; her figure was that of youth and vitality yet her hair was the deep steel gray of advanced years. She was wearing an extremely old fashioned black and copper dress that, despite the wreckage about her, appeared to be in pristine condition, unmarked by dust or ash. A wide white-checked belt encircled her waist and delicate gold filigreed patterns twined about the long sleeves and yoke of the dress. A modest white collar that appeared positively ancient and brightly polished brass buttons completed the outfit. A few more creaks and groans, and the figure turned to face the men, a slight smile on her classically beautiful face marred only slightly by a nose that had a hint of crookedness.

Alex opened his mouth to speak, but the figure spoke first in a Boston accent so thick you could almost taste the clam chowder. "A quite annoyed USS Constitution, reporting for duty. Direct me to the nearest operational naval base, young man."

Even with the thick accent the voice of command could make even the most insolent and rebellious youth leap to obey, and Alex was no exception to that. "Portsmouth Naval Shipyard is closest, I think." He paused briefly, then coughed and added a 'ma'am' at an arch look from the old sail girl.

USS Constitution arched an eyebrow at Alex, a ghost of a smile playing over her lips. "I do believe that facility is dedicated to ships that need to sink to do their duty, yes?"

"Ummm… I think so, ummm ma'am." Alex replied.

"Then I should have been more clear, the nearest operational surface warfare base. I was hoping that New York Naval Shipyard was operational, but that would have been closer than Portsmouth, yes? Is the Washington Naval Yard operational?"

Alex nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

USS Constitution chuckled slightly. "Contrary to popular belief, young man, I do not bite. My thanks for your assistance."

She swept past the gaping crew, heading directly for the harbor with her hands clasped lightly behind her back as she navigated the ruin and wreckage with complete aplomb. "I quite enjoyed my last stay in the Potomac, but I do hope that they have done something about the silt. Good day, gentlemen." And she was out of sight.

The crew scrambled after her after a moment, reaching the seawall right as she calmly made her way to the nearest boat ramp formerly used by the harbor tours. As she stepped onto the water the air shimmered about her. What appeared to be the sort of pack that wouldn't be out of place on a revolutionary war reenactor appeared on her back and about her shoulders, with a single tall mast sprouting from it. Canvas spilled out from the yards on the mast and despite the near complete lack of wind billowed out as if caught in a stiff topsail breeze. The shipgirl's hands were still clasped lightly behind her back, her posture erect and proud as she skated smoothly out into the harbor under the impetus of unseen winds.

The crew looked at each other, then jumped as a young voice frantically called out from the wreckage of the nearby dry dock. "WAIT FOR ME!" In the harbor the shipgirl turned, arresting her progress and raised one elegant eyebrow.

A young girl clambered over the wreck and ruin of the dock and leapt into the water, Fletcher-class rigging materializing around her as USS Cassin Young landed and hurriedly skated up to the now smiling sailing frigate. The crew was too far away to hear anything that passed between them, but the hug the pair exchanged before skating off together brought smiles… fierce and hungry smiles from men who'd survived the worst the Abyssals could throw at Boston. The two warships of the old Charlestown Navy Yard were going off to war.

 _Location – Naval Base Ventura County_

It had been several days. Several days of hard training. Around the United States the frenetic pace of summoning ceremonies had ended as the initial rush of ship girls had dried up. Only about a quarter of the believed available girls had been summoned so far, spread out around the country, but that was still more ship girls in absolute terms than any other nation had managed to summon. Most of the girls summoned were older pre-World War 2 vessels or light combatants, with the Sunnydale and Oxnard girls being the most 'modern' of them all.

It had taken a while, but the task force was finally functioning smoothly. Individual and group practices had been grueling, with Buffy driving 'her' girls to meet rather exacting standards. In the absence of any dedicated training ships, like Langley on the East Coast or Utah at Pearl Harbor, Buffy had had to combine tactical leadership with becoming the training mistress of the girls on base. This, of course, had led to plenty of conflicts between the various girls, especially the Sunnydale crew, but in the end things had shaken down with relatively little harm beyond some bruised egos and backsides. It helped that after the first day Buffy had been in near constant communication with both Utah and Langley for advice and assistance in her new duties.

On the other hand it didn't help that Buffy's inspiration for how to go about training people was drawn straight from the boot camp scenes of most major war films and the diminutive slayer seemed determined to out-Drill Sergeant even the grouchiest and meanest DI's in those films. That both Utah and Langley fully approved of this attitude and even at times commented that Montana was too soft somewhat terrified ship girls at all US bases. Buffy would then turn around and lead raids on the local ice creameries once the training day was over, so the girls equally hated and loved her. She kicked their ass out on the water in training, then gave them ice cream and head pats. The destroyers especially liked the head pats. And were short enough that Buffy didn't have to get on tip toe to give them. Mentioning this minor if indisputable fact was a quick path towards utter and total exhaustion as she dragged whoever was so foolish as to make the comment back out on the water and made them do drills until they nearly passed out. Spike and Joyce were the only two to make the comment more than once, since both of them had taken to deflating Buffy's ego at every opportunity.

Abyssal activity had dropped a bit due, as far as anybody could figure out, to the increased losses to ship girl patrols along the coasts. Two raids, one on New York City and another on Seattle, had been intercepted by local ship girl formations and driven off. Attacks seemed to have leveled off at about the same level that other nations with active ship girl forces faced, which was a massive relief to all involved. Convoys with surviving merchant vessels had already started in the Caribbean to relieve the island nations from the threat of starvation as their fishing fleets had been utterly devastated.

"Alright, listen up you bloody wankers." Spike stood in front of the briefing room filled with ship girls, his ship girls. "We've got ourselves a mission."

The girls perked up slightly from where they'd been variously doing their nails, reading magazines ranging from teenage fashion mags to highly specialized technical manuals, wolfing down ice cream (all the destroyers), bragging and glaring (Buffy and Cordelia), a rather enthusiastic thumb wrestling war (all the carrier girls) and all of them were dodging the faerie pilots bombing them with packets of glitter (one of Buffy's ideas to both improve situational awareness and to give the pilots some practice at the same time). But the noise level didn't abate one bit, not that it ever really did.

Spike just shook his head and wondered for the umpteenth time if it was worth it but yet again coming to the silent mental conclusion that it certainly was. "I said listen up." He repeated himself before rolling his eyes and glancing over to Dru. The former vampire seeress turned secretary ship grinned a bit before sticking two fingers in her mouth and letting loose a piercing whistle, thus causing the room to finally quiet down.

"Like I said, we've got us a mission." He glared around the room. "We're going to sail down to LA and pick up the escort of a convoy to Hawaii. Ten container ships loaded with food and munitions, along with a pair of tankers loaded up with fuel oil. This convoy has to get through, Honolulu is on heavy rationing and the power plants only have a week of fuel left. We'll have a six ship division of destroyer escorts from San Diego joining us for this who'll be doing the close in ASW, but we're the heavy escort in the event of surface or air attack. Once we get the convoy through, you'll be escorting them back here loaded with refugees. We don't have nearly enough freighters left, the yards are working on building replacements but that will be at least three months, so don't fucking lose any of them. They are more valuable right now than bloody gold."

He paused and fished around in his jacket pocket for a remote before thumbing it on, bringing up a chart of the Pacific showing the planned route. "You'll have P-8 coverage the entire route, and I'm told the flyboys have gotten their hands on the first batch of depth charges designed for high altitude high speed release and will be testing them. If they work that should reduce the strain on the escorts since hopefully they'll be able to thin out any submarine Abyssals before they can get in position to hit the convoy. Plan is you'll be taking a direct path with variable leg zig zags to throw off any sub attack and complicate any surface intercept. The Pearl ship girls will be meeting you at point Bravo." He used the laser pointer on his remote to indicate a spot about ten nautical miles out from Pearl Harbor. "They'll be augmenting the escort force as Abyssal surface forces have been hitting the islands hard."

He paused again, hard eyes sweeping over the girls who were furiously taking notes, ignoring the fact that many of them were doing so with varicolored ink with glitter and sparkles and other ridiculously un-military things, in notebooks that ranged from professional to ones more suitable for middle school.

"Once you arrive in Hawaii and while the ships are being unloaded, you'll be joining the Pearl Harbor girls to aggressively search for and destroy as many Abyssal surface units as you can find. Thin them out as best you can so hopefully your return trip will be somewhat easier." One last pause. "Any questions?"

Immediately Buffy and Cordelia's hands shot up.

"No, you bloody well can't load Katies." Spike said immediately to preempt the two battleships causing both Montana's to pout at him. He waved that away. "Any serious questions? Tarawa?" he nodded to the lone fleet carrier in the room.

"Keeping the air supremacy loadout?"

Spike nodded. "One fleet carrier alone isn't going to be very effective, and we can't spare any additional since Sara, Lex, Ranger and Wasp are all on the east coast, plus you have the most advanced fighters of any of the carriers who've returned. So keep a very heavy CAP up for the convoy since even though what we've seen of Abyssal airpower is practically non-existent but I would rather not take any bloody unnecessary chances."

Buffy kept her hand up for a moment longer before just speaking up. "How about Dionysius and Wright? Will they be accompanying us to provide C3 and at-sea repairs?"

Spike chuckled "I'll be on one of the freighters, and both of them will be along as well"

"What about supplies?" Buffy asked as she consulted her notebook. "Both at sea and when we reach Pearl?"

"One of the cargo ships is of the LASH type, we're setting aside capacity on her for at-sea resupply of the escort force." Spike replied, consulting his own notes before smirking. "We've also got plenty of ice cream set aside for the escort force so you should all be in good shape presuming we get enough breaks in Abyssal strikes to indulge. Once we get to Pearl we'll have a pair of repair ships to get you all back into top condition since Vestal was summoned last night."

"Is USS Independence out of dry dock yet?" Cordy asked, frowning a little.

"Yes, why? Weren't planning on bringing any conventional warships along on this trip." Spike replied.

"We should see if she's available, we may need her boat retrieval equipment and module space to serve as an emergency dock if any of us take significant damage. Might make the difference between losing a girl and all of us making it through this." Buffy said, having picked up on Cordy's thoughts quite quickly. For all that the two battleships bickered…

Spike nodded and made a note after glancing over at Dru and getting a nod. "I'll see what I can do. We're going feet wet in an hour, girls."

 _Location – San Pedro Bay_

Ever since the chaos of the initial Abyssal attacks the roadstead of San Pedro Bay had been deathly quiet. The surviving container ships that had managed to make harbor floating listlessly at anchor with no real prospect for further voyages while their crews drowned their sorrows ashore remembering friends who'd been lost at sea. Many of the anchored vessels had been sunk in subsequent Abyssal raids while helplessly swinging at anchor with, thankfully, nobody on board.

That had now all changed. Patrols of destroyer escort girls and coast guard cutter girls swept the approaches to the bay regularly, preventing further attacks from the Abyssals. And now the surviving freighters were forming up into a convoy in the main ship channel of the bay accompanied by the greyhound sleekness of a single grey warship that appeared to be racing even while barely maintaining steerage way. Surrounding them were the figures of young women and girls skating about on top of the waves. Yet if one were to squint just right and let one's mind drift just so, one could see instead the ghostly hulls of old warships summoned from the grave to serve their country once more.

On the bridges of several of the massive cargo vessels elderly men who hadn't been to sea for years, decades in some cases, stood or sat next to sailors young enough to be their great grandchildren. The navy had scoured the country, searching for surviving veterans of World War 2 convoy operations to assist with running this, the first true convoy of a new, far more deadly, war. Age-roughened voices advised young professionals about the tricks of forming up a convoy, how to work out separation intervals and maintaining formation without breaking light or radio discipline. The little tricks, the ones that somehow never made it into textbooks or Merchant Marine Academy classes, but which were invaluable at sea.

Meanwhile, out at sea, beneath the waves, a twisted form drifted in the currents. It vaguely resembled a shark crossed with a squid and was pitch black with metallic highlights. In the uncertain light of the depths it had a mottled appearance that shifted and flowed. A single eye on a stalk extended above the waves, focusing in on the roadstead.

"̛̣̩̲̪̺̗̮̒͛̋͂̃̐Ḯ̧̖̤͉̯̥̳̉̉̊̾̃͠ ̦̲̝̣͓͔̐̽̌̓̈́́͘ͅw̢̞͉͚̤̩̭̍͊͗̃͗̌̔i̮̯͈̝̻͙̹͂͑́͂͗́̕ľ̟͙̱͔̳͖͉̇̈́̀̈̿̚l̨̡̡̞̝̭̖̿̉̃̀̀̓̕ ̻͓̗̦̯̦̞̾͆̐́͆̓͝i͈̰̺͔̣͔̝͆̒̔́̈́̾͋n̲͓͈͎̠̘͔̓̏͗͒͆́̽f̨̦̞̠̺̭̑͌͂̅͊̂̓͜l̜̖͕̤͕͎̿̉̐̓̂͑̕͜i͔̻̻̠̰̝͕͆̃̅̋̐̊͠c̢̩̤͍̺̘̓̋̇̽͌̚͘͜ẗ̛͈̝̖͓̺̳͓̾̂̚͝͝ ̢̹̖̫̳͒̔̃͗̀̿̒͜͜ţ̠̻̖̹͍̦̎͛͗́́̚͝h̻͔͇̗̣̤͉̉̿̃͆͐͘͝e̠̙͚̭͔̮͖͊̏͂̌̈́̿̍ ̡̧̞͇̹̰̤̋̈́̆͊́͋͘ṡ̨̨̧̱̟̱͓́͛̀̊͘̕ù͕̥̹͍̘̰͆̀̀͗̒̒͜f̘͍̲̤̲̰̠͆̑͐̈̓͑͝f̜̫̠̙̯̠̞̒̂̂̆̉̽̍ê̡̧̬̫̜̩̣̐̏̋̉̏͝r̢̻̯͍̩̥̄̄́̽̌̃̚ͅi̛̛͍̩̝̖̩͙̱̐̄͛͑̇n̮̲͓̻̫͉̦̈́͆̏̊̑̄̅g̢͈̺̦̰̙̎̂͒́̾̎͘͜ ̞͔̥͎͎̱̻̈͑̌̌̋̉̎Ī̧̤̘̻̜̽̒͑̽̆́͜͜ ̨̢̩̖̯͎͔͆̽̊̉͐̕͠f̡̧͕͚̫͔͙̍͐̋̊̌͋͝e̡̨̲̜͕͔͒͒̓̇́͋̏͜e̳͍̲̗̞̠͌̎̃͋͋͗͆ͅl̠̙̜̦̝̦̼̃̌̒͊͌͘͝ ̡̨̣̠̣͉̮͗̈́̀̀̈͘͝ǘ̧̲̳̰̠̞̃͌͒̄̓̽͜p̞͉̼̹̻̣̥͆̀̍̐͗̑͠ơ͓͚̤͖̙̯̑̇̒̓͒̇͜n͚̟̞̗̭̖̺̍̿̋͋͗͌͠ ̧̧͍̳͓̞̙̏̇̾̌͋̉̾y̯͉͇̗͚͉̲̾̏̉́̈́̅ȯ̠̘̟̯̦͓̱̀́̔̀̀̀ű̪͙̺̺̺̰̻̇͊̑͗̈͝ ̫̻̫̙̯̘̦̊́̃͗̽̔̈a̢͈̩͈̗̺̩̾̓̃͗͑̚͠ṉ̟͎̼͍̣̰͆̆̓̂̏̑̄d̨͇̣̫̣̙̮̒͒͊́̂͌̊ ̳̮̞̖̗͇͇̆̓̊͆̅̌͝ý͎̪̤̩̝̞̞̓͆̀͌̔̕ȯ̡̗̻̫̼̫̯̆̓́͌̿͘u̗͈̖͔̪͔͑͗̑́͊̚͘͜ŗ̨͓̘͉̩̫͂̔̂͌̋̃̇s̲͕͔̠̥̬̻͛̏͂̅͋̿͝.̭͕̯͇̱͙̎͌̆́̆̚̕͜ ̢͎͍̹̫̣͈̓̈̌̓̀̚͘ ̧͇͍͍̩͕͆̃͂͊͘͜͠͝M̞͚̣̘̫̞̪̓̏̊̽͐̌͘ȳ̧͇͕̪̮̤̹͆̏͗̐̈́̕ ̢̛͓͕̹̞̺̭̒̋͌̂̾͝p͈̻̹̱̤̙̬̽̇͆̊̑͌̿a̢̧̛̰̦͎͓̰͛̑̓̔͑͠ì̗͓̗̦̱͔̬̊̓̓̕͝͝n̨̬̫͙̲̗̝͋͌̋̿̏͒̽ ̛̮̙̺̻̮͎͚̋͐́͐͝͠ẁ̥̣̱͍̬̫͎͋͗̍̃͘͠ỉ̡̜͓̲͌̈́͌̀̅̚͜͜ͅl̨̰̺͓̣͈̂͊͌́͌͊̚ͅl̢̙̟̠͍̞͍̓͊͂̈̿̂͝ ̛̤̺͍̠̩̫̠͌̑̿͒͐͠b̢̢̛̗̖͙͈̘̀̈́́̽͝͠e͖̩̱̻̙̬̅͐̽͂̄͗͝ͅ ̻̱̳̺͇̞͗̀́̍̂̎̕ͅy̧̧̝̰͔̘̫͒͋̑̈́̔͛͝o͖̺̘̱͉͈̺̅̈́̈̿̊̆͝u̝̞̤̤̦͑͛̂͐͐͜͝͝ͅṟ̛͓̻͕̠̫̙̓͛̓̈̓̓ ̧͈̱̖̣̦͋́̊̐̈̈́͜͠p͍̺̻͎̭͐͂̔̍́̈̃͜͜ā̧̼̭̲͖̩͇̉̈́̆͂̋͠i̛̺̫̲͉̣̗̙͂̇̅̇̚͠n̨͔̗̱͈͚̑́̓̾̓͛͜͝.̘̩̺͍͈̫̆͊̂͂̽̓͜͝ ̨̱̩͓͈̹̮͊͊̓́̃̽̏ ̹̗͖͉͓͕̙̅̏̈́͆͑͋̂M̧̳͈͇̠̜̲͆̿̅̈͗̄̕y̱̝͙̻̣̣̦̽͂̑̐͌͂̕ ̧̱̥͚͙̭̏̏̽̈́͂͑̿͜ȃ͍̼͚͔͙̖̳̉̏̐͂̾͝g̱̣̠̘̯̝̙̓̇̅͛̈́͗̕ǫ̱̜̮͍̤͇͒́̀͂̀͋͘n̛͇̗̣̘̘̞̩̎̓̄̈́͘͠ỳ̢̗̭̖̜̮̼̍̃͗͊̂̎ ̛͇̳̖̭̫̺̣́̌̄̈̆͗w̛͎̫̩̯̳̤̦͆̍̈́̓̔̕ḯ̡͇̫̞̜̱̻̈̀͛̈̈́͝l̛͕͍̝̬̻͇̠͊̌́̊̒͝ĺ̨̧̠̦̖̠̅̒̽̔̚͘͜ ̢̘͍͉̯̙̰̽̽́͂̐͌̚b̢̛̬͓̼̼̼̦́̀̔̓̋̽e͕͔̫͖̩̤̳͂̐̓̃̊͐͝ ̢̡̳̯͕̖̺̾͒́͋̊͗̚y̡̛̤̥͎͕͙͓̓̊̂͐̈̑o̹͍̖̟̗̪̪̍̈̊̎͒́̕u̧̹̠̣̪͎̝̒̈͒̀͗̾͘ŗ̧̙͇̗̺̲̓̏͐̈́̽̄͝ ̧̡̛̻̺̥̖̥̒́͌̈͝͝a̧͖̫͈̺͙̿̌̈́̆̓̇̆ͅg̡̝͙̪̜̹̠̑͌̈́̽̚͠͝ǫ̰̠͕̲̯̯̏̑͌̿̓͝͝ņ̼͇̲̤̱͔̈́̊͑̇̒͘͝y̻̣͍̣̱͕̭̆͛̒̽̅̾͗.̛̲͍̭̥̜͔̙̓̎̐̂̀̃ ̢̛̖͈̝̼̻͎̎̍͂͌̑̏ ̨̫̺͖̹̝̞͑̈̅̓͐͗̎S̹̩̱̲̬̙͆͛̈́͌̄̑̚ͅu̯̩̜̤̜͖͒̾͒͌͛͌͘͜f̡̧̬̠͍͇͇̋́͊̈͌̊̓f̥̩̟̳͎́̀̉̒̈̀̈́ͅͅë̡̡̛̟̮̥̘̤́̽͊͌̚͠r̙̜̣̪̝̹̗̓́́̓̊̚͝ ̡̢̻͈͓͚̩̈̀̈́̈́͑͠͠ŵ̧̤͚̩̖͍̓͌̇͌̔̔͜î̧̬̩͇̗̬̈́̈́͑͊̏̀ͅţ̪̼̞̻̝̲̑̿͛̉̉͊͛h̢̤͚̖̞͉̻͗͌̎͐̄̌͘ ̡̣͉̩̞̬̖̾̌̄̎̈́̓̀m̪̫͖̘̺̣̬̂̋̅́̎̕͝ẻ͖̝̟̻̰̺̭̅̓̐́̃̍.̢̯̝̻̼̣̮̽͛̃͐͐́̃"̠̙͕̝̤̞̱̑̓̿͂̂̕͝


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N – Still don't own anything, see the disclaimer in the first chapter.**

 **Comments and critiques are the fuel by which a writer powers their muse and avoids writer's block. I welcome any and all, positive, negative, and in between.**

 **I am still seeking a britpicker for what has grown from what I had originally planned to be a small side plot in this main story to a side story in its own right. The Watcher's Council has *not* been passive this entire time, after all, and they are tools of the Powers…**

 **Chapter 07  
Location – Zellerbach Auditorium – UC Berkeley campus**

The iconic performance venue located off of Sproul Plaza had seen many a performance in its day. From rock icons to classical orchestras and just about everything conceivable in between. It was one of San Francisco's best known musical venues after all, and had even hosted Jeopardy. Today, though, on the eve of a critical convoy setting off for Hawaii, it hosted a more somber affair.

Cal Performance dated back to the San Francisco Earthquake of 1906 and had been founded as part of the recovery from that disaster. Now there had been another disaster. Abyssal forces had weeks earlier penetrated into the Bay and shelled the city, and one of the shells had blown the roof off of the iconic auditorium. It had been the only building about Sproul Plaza to suffer a direct impact, although shell craters pockmarked the plaza itself, but despite the damage the building was full to capacity. Tarps spread across where the roof had once been strove mightily to keep out the light rain and the audience suffered the drips in silence as the orchestra played on. This show had been scheduled before the Abyssal War had started, and both the organizers and the audience were too stubborn to give up on it.

The musical choices, of course, had shifted. No longer the contemporary pop classical that had originally been on the program. But instead old classical ballads and music intermixed with sea songs and shanties. It was a somber sort of affair, but all the more powerful because of it.

The audience was rapt. The orchestra was focused. The chorus was intent. Thus nobody really noticed when there was an addition to their number. In the dim grayness of the drippy, drizzly day that might well be forgivable. The figure was somber herself for all her relative height and stood just outside the light cast by the floor lights to illuminate the performance. The only thing announcing her presence was a faint hiss as her rigging vanished before it had even fully manifested, leaving her dressed only in her uniform.

She was wearing what appeared to be a feminine version of World War 2 era dress whites with a rather extensive array of medals and ribbons adorning her breast. The trousers had been replaced by a miniskirt that barely made it to halfway down her thighs while the standard Navy oxfords had been replaced with a pair of low heels. A standard navy-issue cutlass adorned her belt while she was wearing the cover of an admiral, albeit worn at a slightly jaunty angle. She was obviously Nisei in origin, but the faint smirk on her lips and gleam in her eye were oh so typically American.

The music finally wound down and the audience rose to applaud. She joined them, and the sound of solid steel slamming together silenced the house even as she continued to applaud, stepping forward into the light given off by the stage lights. She turned to face the audience, one eyebrow lifting for a brief second then in a movement too fluid to be anything but second nature, after all she had been a flagship for much of her career and an extremely well-decorated one at that, she snapped to attention.

A gravelly voice, as worn as she herself was yet with a core of refined Special Treatment Steel and more than a hint of genteel energy, grated out. "USS San Francisco, CA-38, reporting." She coughed, cleared her throat as she relaxed from her formal position and managed to look slightly embarrassed at the same time. "And I would appreciate it if somebody could get me some water, then point me towards the enemy. I seem to have gotten lost on the way to the summoning pool." She paused, and a faintly hopeful expression crossed her face as her voice turned a bit softer and less formal. "And… anybody know if Atlanta or Juneau's back? I really need to apologize to them…"

For a heartbeat there was silence… and then there was noise.

 **Location – Pacific Ocean off the coast of California**

It wasn't commonly known outside the seafaring community, but the USN had never stopped planning out how to organize and operate convoys. During the Cold War the reason was obvious, the Soviet Union had a massive submarine fleet and strong incentive to cut off Europe from US reinforcements. But even after the Cold War had ended the planning had continued, albeit more at a contingency level. In any military organization planning never ends, even for the most unlikely of circumstances. That being said, until the last several months absolutely nobody had been planning for escorts comprised of the spirits of World War 2 warships, nor that their opponents would be monstrously warped equivalents to pre-dreadnoughts, armored cruisers, torpedo boat destroyers, and primitive submarines of pre-World War 1 vintage that nevertheless seemed impossible to truly kill.

A modern warship could relatively easily sink one of them, if they could manage to hit it, but careful analysis had shown that the same enemy entity would return within an hour. Bearing a few scars on its deformed hide but otherwise unharmed. Sunk again, it would return again. When a shipgirl sank one of the Abyssals, it would take several days for it to return. That simple difference, combined with how much easier it was for the shipgirls to hit and damage the enemy, was the real reason for how critical the shipgirls had become for naval operations.

So the plans existed. Even now the inveterate planners at the Pentagon and the Naval War College were busily updating them to account for the new realities. Careers would be made or broken. But that was typical for the opening phases of a war. What mattered was that there were plans, and they were being followed with modifications suggested by the old veterans of the last great conflict that required convoy operation. Of course, it would have helped if any of the shipgirls escorting this particular convoy had actual experience at the duty. None of them had ever escorted an actual convoy through an actual threat area after all. Even the little destroyer escort girls who looked like they belonged in a playroom playing with dolls had all commissioned after the war had ended and had never seen action. But they nonetheless knew their weapons and equipment and knew the theory at least of what they were supposed to be doing.

"Rizzi to Montana, contact relative bearing 290, 4 knots at 1 mile. Requesting permission to engage."

"Granted, Rizzi. Conklin, cover Rizzi. Rabaul, vector some Avengers overhead to assist. All ships, alter course 10 points to starboard on my mark… mark." Buffy replied as her own internal CIC and plotting room updated the threat board. She had no more practical experience at ASW and convoy ops than the others, but Nike and Athena had been quite… thorough… in her education. "McCaffery, if they were planning a hammer and anvil attack there should be contacts in your zone, go active and sniff them out if they're hiding."

"On it, Montana, going active now…" the nerdy destroyer girl replied, frowning in concentration. "Contact! Two contacts, relative bearing 020!"

"McCaffery, Osberg… prosecute those contacts. Tinian, vector your birds to cover." Buffy rapped out the orders, keeping careful track of the tactical plot. "Tarawa, have your pilots watch for bubble trails, I want to know if any of those boats managed to get off any fish."

Even as she was speaking a series of waterspouts erupted well off to port of the formation as two enthusiastic destroyer escort girls gleefully tossed depth charges down at an Abyssal submarine. The battleship shook her head with a slight smile at the sight, brought into sharp focus by her superb rangefinders and slayer vision. She listened to the acknowledgements of her orders, even as she stretched a bit and looked over the formation with a critical eye. The freighters were a bit looser than she'd really prefer, but none of the crews had ever operated in such tight formations before so a bit of slack was expected. There was absolutely nothing to be gained by forcing them to tighten up other than an increased risk of collisions. She suspected that the formation would be far crisper by the end of the week long voyage. Or at least she hoped it would be, because the threat level would rise significantly the closer they got to Hawaii.

 **Location – Temple Square, Salt Lake City, Utah**

Choir music could be heard drifting from the Salt Lake Tabernacle, and that music perhaps explained why the pathways of the square were nearly deserted. With the privations of the war effort being felt even this far inland, as gasoline was strictly rationed, cities had become much quieter, especially in the evenings. That and the weather was rather poor, the fallen leaves of autumn joined by the faint tracery of ice on the puddles left behind by a fall thunderstorm.

The square was nearly deserted, but nearly is not completely. A figure walked through the gathering dusk. A casual onlooker could be forgiven for thinking she was drunk as she walked with a pronounced lean to one side and it seemed completely impossible for her to keep a completely straight course. Yet her steps were true and steady and the pace she kept up would exhaust an Olympic power walker in minutes. A battered oilskin greatcoat flapped in the breeze revealing legs clad in equally worn and faded denim dungarees of the sort issued to common sailors. A crushed dixie cup hat rested on her head, held there more by willpower and act of God than anything else, and the woman's long brown hair whipped in the wind.

She looked about like a typical tourist, taking in the sights around her, even as her pace remained steady. She'd been walking for miles, all the way from Fort Douglas. She'd never seen this city, the only part of her ever brought here had been her bell after she'd been sunk as a target. Her lips curled slightly. _Would have been nice if they'd bothered to take, oh, say my tripod mast as a memorial? But I guess it wouldn't have fit in._ She thought with a sense of mild bitterness.

John Hicks was a large, burly man. A security guard at the Tabernacle, at the wrong end of fifty and with grandkids at home he still looked tough enough to cow even the most unruly of tourists. Now, seeing the apparently drunk sailor walking towards his post outside the Tabernacle, he frowned and straightened up. He was a devout Mormon, and despised alcohol and those who consumed it.

"You there, no drinking in the Square." He called out, planting himself in her path. "And the Tabernacle is not open without a ticket."

The woman didn't seem to react, climbing up the steps right towards him, still swaying from side to side.

"Look, miss, the Tabernacle is open only to ticket holders for the performance and no drinking. Leave before I…" he cut off as the figure reached him and didn't even bother to attempt to walk around him, or pause, or anything else, and just walked right over him, sending him sprawling to the ground.

John brushed himself off even as he surged to his feet, turning. "I don't know who you think you are." He snarled, his temper rising as he snatched a truncheon off of his belt. The other security guards had seen what had happened and were converging fast, while the woman didn't seem to care at all having not altered her pace in the slightest. "Will, call it in." he strode forward, quickly catching up to the woman, and tried to grab her shoulder.

Well, he managed the grab, not that it did him the slightest good as despite the fact that he had a good foot in height on her and was an extremely solid build he found himself being dragged along as she didn't even slow down.

By the time the police arrived it was almost comical. The woman had made it inside the Tabernacle and was in the main entrance hall with six security guards being dragged behind her as they tried to take her down with no noticeable effect. There were guards being dragged behind each leg, more grappled around her waist, one on each arm, and John had both arms around her shoulders and was futilely trying to topple her. It looked like something out of Keystone Kops, and the answering officer had to suppress an urge to laugh at the scene.

"Stop right there, miss." Sergeant Randall Harrison said, mastering his chuckles as he drew his pistol. Before he could get any further the woman stopped, turned and in the process whipped off the various security guards via pure centrifugal force to lay panting on the floor. "You are…"

"Nice pistol." Came a cold and sardonic voice that seemed like it had run out of fucks to give about ten fucks ago. "Mine are nicer."

Suddenly there was a sparkle of light surrounding the woman. A steel backpack surmounted by a tall tripod mast appeared on her back with four cantilevered arms each holding a single turret, two with three guns, two with a pair, while steel gauntlets studded with smaller turrets appeared on her hands. Her smile, sardonic before, became positively sarcastic as she deliberately took out a battered flask from her belt and took a slug of its contents from it.

"USS Salt Lake City. Pensacola class. And if you have any further objections to my taking a peaceful tour of the place I'm named after." Her smile became positively wicked. "Take them up with Mister 8" Mk 14." One of the turrets indexed about and trained on the officer, who prudently holstered his pistol.

Sergeant Harrison was silent for a moment, then slowly and deliberately, drawing on his time in the Navy, came to attention. "I see. Regardless I must ask that you refrain from drinking alcohol while in Temple Square." He continued in a deliberately calm voice that nevertheless had a hint of 'I shall be obeyed' to it. He had been a PO2 after all with time in the Gulf supporting US forces in Iraq before he'd mustered out a few years before after his father passed away. "If you would like I am certain that I could arrange for a proper escort and tour for you as well." Again the unstated 'you will take me up on this offer, ensign, or you will regret it' lurked in his voice.

Salt Lake City took another, deliberate, drink from her flask, then offered it to the sergeant as her rigging vanished. "I think I like you." She said in the same cold voice that had left its last fuck behind so long ago. "And its ginger ale, I prefer moonshine, and my engineering crew were wizards at whipping it up, but when in Mormon-town USA do as the teetotalers do."

There was silence for a second, then Sergeant Harrison smiled and chuckled, relaxing and taking the flask. An experimental sip and he nodded, handing it back. "Very well." He said, then his eyes positively twinkled as he looked at the tangled pile of security guards who were goggling at them both. "John, once you've brushed yourself off could you put in a call to the events people? I think Miss Salt Lake City here would be willing to apologize for dragging you about if you were to be helpful."

The non-commissioned command voice was still there, and John shook himself as he managed to reach his feet. He gave the plainly unrepentant heavy cruiser a glower then forced himself to relax. "She could have just said who she was." He muttered, hands on his hips. "My grandfather served on her at Kommandorski." He took out his radio and started muttering into it while Salt Lake City had the good grace to blush a bit.

"Ummm, sorry?" she said, sounding a bit embarrassed. After a moment a single fairy climbed out of her uniform and stood on her shoulder.

"Hey. Hey Hey Hey. Hey Hey Hey Hey Hey." Said the Fairy, causing John to spin around and gawk in mid-sentence.

"I retired from the force." John said in reply. "Mary wanted me home more with the kids gone." He took a deep breath, said something softly into the radio, and clipped it to his belt. "Got this job." He paused, looking a bit discombobulated. "How are you back, granda?"

"Hey Hey Hey Hey." Replied the fairy, lightly thwapping the cruisers ear. "Hey Hey."

Salt Lake City sighed and brought one hand up to her shoulder, allowing the fairy to hop onto it. "Fine, Chief." She said, shaking her head, then held out her fairy bearing hand to John. "Let me know when you are done."

As the fairy hopped onto John's outstretched hand and continued speaking to him in a series of 'Hey's', a well-dressed woman entered the entrance hall holding a clipboard.

Sergeant Harrison smiled. "Hello there, Joyce. Allow me to introduce USS Salt Lake City, CA-25. She's here in town for the first time and was taking a self-guided walking tour of the square. Any chance you could get her in to listen to the Choir?"

 **Location – Sunnydale, California**

For the teens of Sunnydale Halloween had been one of the best days ever, simply from the completely selfish perspective of the fact that the high school had been closed ever since. The ten kilometer high pillar of blazing white energy erupting from the library pretty much guaranteed that. Even in daylight the sun struggled to compete with the brilliance of the pillar, and nighttime was nearly indistinguishable from daytime. The army had cordoned off the area and weren't talking, while state and federal law enforcement officials combed through the town. With the deaths of the mayor and most of the town council that night, the revelation of centuries old cover-ups of murder and mayhem, the disappearance of half of the police force and the determination that the remainder were about as corrupt as it was possible to be the idyllic little town was groaning under the weight of investigations and investigators.

Within seconds of the eruption of that energy every vampire but one in Sunnydale had shrieked and flashed to dust. Angel had shrieked as well, as Angelus had been annihilated, but his soul and the favor of the higher powers had spared his existence. He was currently in the Sunnydale General Burn Unit ICU with hideous burns over his entire body that, to the astonishment of the doctors, were rapidly healing even without the benefit of skin grafts. The demon population had similarly been annihilated, the evil ones consumed in holy fire that ignored such minor things as fire resistance, while the neutral ones had been seized by a strong urge to vacate the area lest they annoy the light.

Giles was likewise in hospital, although in his case he was being monitored for the massive burn that destroyed the Mark of Eyghon. He'd managed to keep his feet and his stiff upper lip long enough to see his Slayer and her friends off before collapsing into a healing coma. Ethan had vanished, the last anybody had seen of him he'd clasped arms with an indistinct figure with two-faces and then disappeared into the pillar itself.

This all left Xander as the only person who both knew what had happened and was available to brief people about it. Luckily both Giles and Ethan had planned for this and had saddled the poor innocent master fetcher of sugary goodness and all around good natured goofball with the task. His girls would be out there, fighting to save the world, and he'd once again be the damn REMF. Not that he was complaining too much, Ethan had insisted that Xander wear a minor little costume, and having the memories of Giles running around in his head was proving most useful. But he still would never be caught dead wearing tweed.

His girls were gone. But so was the Hellmouth. He wasn't sure if it was a trade he'd ever willingly make, but standing next to that pillar of holy energy that had replaced the mouth of Hell made it all seem almost worthwhile. From Giles' memories and the books he'd left behind he knew that such things had happened in the past, and for some reason the Watcher's Council had immediately done everything possible to destroy them, acting with far more zeal than they did against hellmouths. Knowing now that the Council served the Powers, and putting that together with how the Powers were behind the Abyssal apocalypse… it didn't take a Willow-brain to put together the dots.

What's more, religious symbols, regardless of faith or creed, brought within sight of the pillar of energy seemed to absorb a bit of it and glow of their own accord, bringing a bit of peace and good feeling along with them. The churches that dotted the town no longer seemed so out of place and attendance was soaring as people instinctively reconnected with their myriad faiths, whatever they were. It was the diametric opposite of the hellmouth, sacred rather than profane.

And Xander felt a peace he'd lost with the death of Jesse in his soul. His girls were off to war, it was true. But… he'd keep the donuts and sacred Twinkies ready for them when they returned.

 **Location – Pacific Ocean, 500 nautical miles east northeast of Pearl Harbor**

Buffy was almost relaxed. The voyage from Los Angeles had been tense and hectic, with constant submarine attacks, but they had managed to avoid any serious trouble. That, ironically, had been the cause of most of her tension. The Abyssal surface ships could attack at any time, and unlike the submarines they couldn't simply outrun them or change course to spoil their attacks. They'd finally have had to fight. Every day that there were no reports of surface Abyssals had been one more day for her nerves to draw ever tauter. Yet now she almost relaxed, the P-8 shadowing the convoy had reported a massive surface concentration between them and Hawaii, the battle she'd been anticipating was near at hand.

She'd left all the dedicated ASW escort girls back with the main convoy, along with Bristol and Porter who'd both taken light damage in the grueling ASW fight. While a dip in the baths aboard USS Independence had helped, she still wanted to hold those two girls back and three destroyers would be enough to provide a minimal screen for the surface escort group. She'd also left Fargo and Oregon City back along with Tarawa to serve as a backstop in case of any Abyssal leakers or any attempted trap.

She had set her formation carefully. Des Moines, Newport News, and Salem led her line and would make contact first. They would alter course to port and attrite down any light and medium Abyssal units while working to stay out of range of the heavies. Their 8" guns gave them enough reach for that, and Buffy intended to take full advantage of the range disparity between the two sides for as long as she could. She would be leading Louisiana and Hawaii behind them, altering to starboard and focusing fire on the Abyssal heavy units. Spokane and Fresno would screen the three heavy cruisers from Abyssal destroyers while Huntington and Roanoke would do the same for the battleships. Henley, Witek, and McCaffery were to hang back, listening hard with ASDIC for any submarines who might try to appear, and then join whichever formation attracted the mass of torpedo boat Abyssals. Overhead, Bearcats and Corsairs from Tarawa orbited. The Bearcats would be providing eyes in the sky, watching for any bubble trails that might indicate a torpedo launch, while the Corsairs would make rocket attacks and strafing runs on the Abyssal heavies.

Normally splitting ones formation was frowned upon in naval tactics, much like on land. But in this case, the Abyssals had a habit of splitting their own when presented with diverging targets and what's more they tended to split along class lines leading to a sort of self-sorting target filter. The heavy units should focus on her, the lighter ones would go for the cruisers, and thus those targets best suited for each type would self-segregate.

"Signal execute upon receipt. Shackle George Peter King Unshackle Turn William Acknowledge," She said softly into her TBS net. Since it was unencrypted, being old school Second World War TBS kit, she was speaking in code as they had no way to know if the Abyssals could listen in or not. And since everybody's signal personnel were most accustomed to old style phonetics she was using that as well. In this case, she was telling her 'W' task group, the three Des Moines, to change to relative course 280.

"Wilco, Out." Came the response from Des Moines, and she promptly turned left ninety degrees, with Newport News and Salem following as they reached the same point in the ocean to maintain their line. With their main batteries unmasked, the three girls promptly started unleashing hell upon the enemy.

The days of practice had done their accuracy wonders, Buffy mused with a bit of a smirk as she prepared to time her own turn. Her radar and rangefinders were both reporting good hits on several Abyssal armored and protected cruisers, accompanied by the bright flashes of actinic lightning that usually accompanied any shipgirl destroying an Abyssal unit.

"Signal execute upon receipt. Shackle King Sail Easy Unshackle Turn Baker Acknowledge." She sent, and immediately heeled over on a sharp 90 degree turn to starboard. Hearing replies from both Louisiana and Hawaii she narrowed her eyes and her focus as her turrets indexed about. Shot… out. Battle was fully engaged.

Like the last time it was almost a shooting gallery. They outranged the Abyssal pre-dreadnoughts, armored cruisers, protected cruisers, and torpedo boat destroyers by thousands of yards and had pin point accuracy with their American Radar Master Race fire control. But unlike that battle they couldn't keep the range open forever. They had a convoy to protect and so had relatively limited maneuver space. Steadily the range closed and the first shells from the Abyssal force started to fall. At this range they were extremely inaccurate but that would eventually change.

At least the Abyssals were reacting according to plan, with the pre-dreadnoughts and a few of the armored cruisers splitting off to charge Montana, Louisiana and Hawaii, while the balance of the armored cruisers and all of the protected cruisers were charging the three Des Moines girls. Yes there were far more enemies charging the cruisers, but the cruisers could fire faster and chew up the horde quicker than the slower firing battleships.

Buffy gritted her teeth. Keep on this course and maintain the range as long as possible, or angle in to present less juicy targets while keeping all turrets unmasked. There were arguments both ways. The range advantage was so pronounced as to almost make up for the increased vulnerability of showing a flat broadside to enemy fire. The longer they could keep that up the better. But once they lost that advantage they'd need to turn in, and the time needed to execute the maneuver might be decisive. It was all a matter of timing. Spike and Dru had helped her formulate this plan, but they couldn't execute it. It was all on her shoulders. "Like usual." She muttered under her breath, a hint of remembered bitterness in her tone.

She drew in a breath, intending to order the turn. They were just outside the abyssal pre-dreadnoughts effective range… "Signal execute upon…"

She never did finish that signal. Four 12" shells, ugly and black and twisted, crashed into Hawaii, all four striking right at the center of mass. A massive fiery explosion engulfed her sister.

A/N – The abyssal ships are broadly comparable to Majestic class pre-dreadnought battleships, Cressy-class armored cruisers and Diadem class protected cruisers.


End file.
